


Breathe

by lostresidentevilpotter



Series: What If? [1]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-07-19 21:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: Alicia shoots Al instead of John and sets off a chain reaction of events that derails Morgan’s plans for unity. Al/Alicia.





	1. Permission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up and this immediately popped into my head. This is like an alternate universe/what-if sort of thing that shows a darker side of Alicia (that I wish the show would give us but whatever).
> 
> I chose not to use warnings, but there's some heavy stuff in this piece, sort of in line with how the show has been in past seasons.

It’s an accident. Not that it matters. The result is the same regardless of Alicia’s intentions. Normally her aim isn’t terrible, but the chaos that the Vultures’ arrival brings rattles Alicia. Even though her eyes are set on June, when she pulls the trigger, it’s not June that goes down. Al collapses to the grass beside John Dorie and June, blood quickly spreading across the front of her jacket.

Alicia falters.

“Alicia!” Victor shouts, and Alicia only just manages to recover enough to avoid getting herself killed by the oncoming gunfire from the Vultures. As she takes cover, she notices two things.

One: Morgan gets Al under the arms and drags her into the SWAT van, shielding them both from the firefight between Alicia, Victor, Luciana and the Vultures.

Two: June does what she does best, and she runs, with John Dorie on her tail.

Alicia aims once more, finger braced on the trigger. It’s now or never. She has the shot. Either she kills June, the way she intended to, or she lets her get away, possibly forever.

Alicia waits too long, and June disappears before Alicia can make herself pull the trigger. Bullets bounce off of the vehicle Alicia’s hiding behind, a little too close for comfort, and she gets her head back in the game. She guns down two of the Vultures firing in her direction then drops back behind the truck, exhaling heavily.

June may be gone, and Al may have taken a bullet meant for June, but Alicia can’t worry about either of those things right now. Mel is still standing. And so is Charlie. Alicia has a job to do.

Killing Mel is easy. Alicia gets her chance when Luciana and Victor have wiped out the rest of the Vultures, minus Charlie and Mel – and technically June, but she’s long gone. Alicia could kick herself for letting June get away, but standing over Mel, badly burned from the ambulance explosion, almost makes Alicia forget about her slip up from earlier.

Maybe Alicia should be afraid of the great pleasure she takes in ending Mel’s life. It’s not just relief that washes over her. It’s almost like joy. Alicia’s expression is blank, but she feels absolutely fucking fantastic for the first time since her mother died. Mel’s brains splatter against the grass, and Alicia breathes easy.

“The girl,” Alicia says to Victor and Luciana. “Where’s the girl? Charlie.”

“Hiding,” Victor answers.

Alicia’s eyes flick between Luciana and Victor. “She’s mine,” Alicia snarls. She checks the magazine on her rifle and swaps it for the full one in her jacket. She pauses briefly because of the scream that comes from the SWAT van behind her. Guilt ebbs at Alicia’s conscience. “Make sure she’s not dying,” Alicia orders Victor and Luciana.

“What?” Luciana says.

“The journalist – Al,” Alicia says impatiently, flicking her wrist toward the van. “I – I shot her by mistake. I was aiming for June. Go make sure she isn’t dying. Please.”

“Come on,” Victor says quietly.

“Morgan’s going to kill us,” Luciana mutters.

Another scream comes from the van, and Victor replies, “Morgan’s going to have to wait to kill us, because it sounds like he needs all the help he can get right now.”

Alicia steps over Mel’s body and takes her time searching the remaining Vulture vehicles for the kid. But Alicia has a hard time actually thinking of Charlie as a kid. Kids don’t shoot and kill people. Kids don’t bring down entire communities, therefore inadvertently leading to many deaths. Those aren’t things kids do. So while Charlie may technically qualify as a kid, Alicia sees her for what she is: the person that killed her family.

It’s quiet. Strangely quiet. No sounds of the dead, not even a rustling of the leaves on the trees. The only sounds that occasionally break through the quiet are the screams coming from the van and the faint but frantic voices of Morgan, Luciana, and Victor. Otherwise, it’s quiet, and it’s thanks to the quiet that Alicia locates Charlie. Because something falls and clangs against metal, and Alicia turns toward the vehicle it came from.

Alicia’s afraid that she’s going to lay eyes on Charlie and mistakenly think of her as a child instead of as a murderer. She’s afraid she’s going to look at Charlie and see a poor, misguided kid and not be able to pull the trigger. But when Alicia yanks the door open and spots Charlie, crouched on the floor in the back, she doesn’t see a kid. She sees the person that destroyed her community, her family – the person that brought her more pain than anyone or anything else. And when Alicia raises the rifle, she doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t flinch.

“How is she?” Alicia asks breathlessly. She hauls herself into the back of the van, even though there’s not really space for her, rifle slung over her shoulder. Morgan’s eyes flick over to her but quickly return to Al, lying on her back across the seats. Her jacket, bloodied and sporting a bullet hole, lies discarded on the floor. Al’s shirt is slit up the front, pulled aside to reveal pale flesh coated with blood. The dark fabric of the shirt hides the amount of blood that soaked into it, and Alicia can only guess how much blood Al’s already lost. Too much, probably.

Luciana’s pressing gauze pads against the gunshot wound in Al’s stomach, just off to the right of her navel, but the blood soaks through, spills from the sides of the gauze pads. Al’s teeth are gritted, hair hanging in her eyes, and she stares in disbelief down at the wound.

“Let’s just say it could be better,” Victor says.

“We need supplies,” Morgan says. “And where’s June? We need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“June’s gone,” Alicia says flatly. “It’s on us.”

Morgan freezes. “So you’re telling me June, the one person actually qualified to help Al, is _gone_?”

“She ran with John when the shooting started,” Alicia says. She hesitates, eyes dropping down to Al’s stomach. Luciana takes a seat, presses both her hands over the wound even though the gauze is drenched. Blood oozes between Luciana’s fingers, and she calls for Victor to hand over more gauze pads. Luciana doesn’t let up on the pressure, and Al makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat, chest heaving, teeth gritted against the pain.

“This is the last of it,” Victor informs, passing the remaining stack of gauze to Luciana.

“I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” Luciana says.

“The infirmary in the stadium,” Alicia says suddenly. “There’ll be supplies in there.”

“The stadium is full of the dead,” Victor reminds.

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Alicia replies. She looks from Morgan to Victor to Luciana then finally to Al, who’s staring up at her. “We’ll open the gates, spread out, and force them to choose who to go to, separate them out. Then we can go in, get the supplies, and help Al.”

“Help me?” Al says in disbelief. It’s clear that every word hurts her, and she only just bites back another cry of pain. “You’re the one that fucking shot me, you _bitch_ ,” Al barely manages to hiss.

“I was aiming for June,” Alicia defends weakly. “I’m sorry, okay? I can fix this.”

Al blinks, and Alicia meets her gaze. Al’s eyes are watery, but Alicia attributes that to the pain. Al winces, briefly looking back at Luciana and the wound, before she locks eyes with Alicia once more and snaps, “You’d be better off putting a bullet through my skull.”

“You aren’t dying,” Alicia says. She looks to Morgan. “Is there an exit wound?”

He nods and rubs at his jaw. “We bandaged it, figured since she’s lying on it, that’d be enough pressure to help stop the bleeding.”

“Then let’s do this,” Alicia insists. “Morgan and Luci will stay here, and Victor and I will –”

“I’d feel better if I went with you,” Morgan cuts in.

Alicia pauses. “Okay,” she concedes. “Morgan and I will draw the dead out and retrieve the supplies, and Victor and Luci will stay here.”

“And the Vultures?” Morgan asks, motioning vaguely toward the outside of the van.

“I took care of them,” Alicia says.

“You took care of them?” Morgan questions.

“They’re dead,” Alicia says. There’s no hint of remorse in her voice or her eyes. The only thing Alicia feels guilty about is accidentally catching Al in the crossfire. “All of them,” Alicia adds as every eye in the van turns to her. “Except June. She did what she always does.”

“She ran,” Victor clarifies for Morgan, but Morgan merely nods.

“Took the cowboy with her,” Alicia confirms. “I saw it.”

“We’re wasting time,” Morgan says. “I’ll open the gates. You just be ready to start killing the dead.”

Alicia nods, and Morgan exits the van. Alicia sets her rifle aside, swapping it for her gun barrel so she doesn’t use precious bullets.

“I got this,” Luciana assures Victor. “Go help Alicia.”

Victor nods and pulls a knife, turning to Alicia. “Charlie?” he asks quietly.

Alicia swallows hard. “I took care of it, Victor.”

“Say it,” Victor says.

The words come easier than Alicia expects. “I killed her.”

Victor nods curtly. “Come on,” he says. “We have work to do.”

Alicia spares a final glance Al’s way, but she’s dropped her head down on the seats, bloodstained hands pressed against her eyes. Maybe she’s trying to keep herself conscious – or maybe she’s doing the opposite, trying to urge herself into unconsciousness. Al groans as Luciana’s hands shift, and Luciana murmurs an apology.

Alicia, Morgan, and Victor clear the burnt walkers from the stadium with little trouble. They spread out, all shouting for the dead’s attention so they begin to split away from the large group, making them easier to dispatch. Before long, all that’s left is a field scattered with bodies. Alicia breathes heavily, sweat beading on her forehead, hands slippery with blood. Victor returns to the van with Luciana, and Alicia and Morgan press into the stadium, killing the remaining stragglers on the way.

“What do we take?” Alicia asks.

“Everything we can fit,” Morgan answers, dropping a backpack onto the infirmary’s table. “So start packing.”

Alicia looks for the things she knows to be important – antiseptics, bandages and gauze, suture kits – and lets Morgan get the rest: pain pills, antibiotics, IV bags and tubing, needles. Alicia thinks they’ve finished when Morgan heaves a large book off one of the shelves.

“What’s that?” Alicia asks.

“A manual,” Morgan says. He flips through the pages quickly, nodding to himself. “This might just save Al’s life.”

“Then let’s hurry,” Alicia says. She slings the backpack onto her back. “Morgan, come on,” Alicia says. He jolts out of a trance and shakes his head, leaning against his stick for support as he follows Alicia back out of the stadium. She kills every walker they encounter, but luckily it’s only a few, and they step out into the field.

“The child,” Morgan says before Alicia reaches the van. “What happened to her? She was with the Vultures, wasn’t she?”

Alicia hesitates. “She’s gone,” Alicia says.

“Gone?” Morgan questions. “Gone how? Gone like June and John or…?”

“Gone like the rest of the Vultures, minus June,” Alicia snaps. “Now come on. We need to help Al.”

Disappointment is the main emotion in Morgan’s face, Alicia thinks, but she doesn’t have the time nor the desire to determine exactly what Morgan thinks and feels about her decision to wipe out the Vultures. He definitely wants to say or ask something else, but Alicia’s already climbing back into the van.

Al is still conscious, but she’s paler and covered in more blood than before. Luciana’s hands are completely coated in Al’s blood, and it’s smeared on Luciana’s forehead, so she must’ve touched her hand to her face or something. Alicia puts the barrel aside and drops the backpack to the ground beside Al’s seat.

“Is there anything about gunshots in that book?” Alicia asks. Morgan finds the page and holds it out. Alicia’s eyes skim through the information, lips moving silently as she reads, and she digs through the backpack for what she needs. “I think I can do this,” Alicia says.

“You think?” Morgan says.

“What? Can you do any better?” Alicia challenges. “I didn’t think so.”

It’s starting to get dark. It’s already a cloudy day, but the sun is definitely beginning to set. Alicia tells Victor to get a flashlight and aim it at Al.

“I’ve got this,” Alicia says, mostly to reassure herself. “I can take over,” she tells Luciana. Luciana waits while Alicia sterilizes her hands, washing the blood of the dead completely off with alcohol then flicking the excess from her hands, hoping they’ll air dry quickly. She takes Luciana’s place on the seats, immediately pressing her hands to the wound.

“The bleeding slowed down,” Luciana informs, holding her bloodied hands out at her sides, “but it hasn’t stopped.”

Alicia nods. Morgan stands to her left, holding the book, and Victor’s to her right with the flashlight. Al breathes quickly and shallowly, and she doesn’t even make a sound as Alicia presses on the wound. Alicia tries not to think about how they’re going to have to roll Al to take care of the exit wound, tries not to let thoughts of how this is all her own fault overwhelm her. At least, not yet.

“Al,” Alicia says gently. “You still with me?”

Al grunts. Alicia takes this as an acceptable response, given the circumstances. Luciana cleans her hands off and opens the bottle of antiseptic for Alicia. Alicia lifts the gauze enough to pour a healthy amount of antiseptic over the gunshot wound, watching the way Al’s stomach goes taut as the cold liquid runs through the wound. The bleeding’s almost stopped. Almost. Alicia passes the soiled gauze to Luciana to dispose of and has Victor hand her the suture kit. She’s done stitches before a few times. Infection will be the main issue. And potential internal damage, but Alicia hopes the internal damage is as minimal as possible.

Alicia has to stop her hands from shaking as she stitches the wound shut. She pours more antiseptic over the finished product, ensures it’s holding and not bleeding, then secures fresh bandages over the wound.

“Nice job,” Morgan praises gently.

“Now you just have to do it again,” Victor pipes up.

Alicia exhales heavily, using her sleeve to dab at the sweat on her forehead. “We need to roll her,” Alicia says.

“What?” Al mumbles. She can barely keep her eyes open. “No, no, don’t do that.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Victor tells her.

“Just put me out of my misery already,” Al moans.

“No,” Alicia says. She motions for Morgan to move out of the way with the book. “Victor, give me a hand.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood already,” Luciana points out.

“A transfusion would be ideal,” Victor replies.

“We have the supplies to do it,” Alicia says. “And rig an IV. It’s all in the backpack.”

“There’s just the blood type problem,” Victor says.

Al lets out this breathless sound that might be a laugh and manages to breathe, “There’s no blood type problem. I’m AB-positive.”

“We can figure that out after I finish the stitches,” Alicia says. “Victor, help me roll her. Please.”

Together, Alicia and Victor get Al flipped around, though not without a lot of groaning from Al. Alicia pulls the torn fabric of Al’s shirt from her body and tosses it aside. Al braces herself on her forearms, leaning her forehead down on the seats, gritting her teeth as Alicia cleans and stitches the exit wound shut. Alicia places a bandage over it, pursing her lips, not entirely confident in her handiwork. Alicia helps Al get positioned on her side facing the aisle.

“You did it,” Morgan says. He can hardly believe it – hell, Alicia hardly believes it, and she was there every step of the way.

“Yeah,” Alicia says, lowering herself into a seated position in the aisle, arm braced against the seats beside Al’s legs. Alicia’s heart pounds in her chest, and she feels like she can barely breathe, but it’s over. For now. “So about that transfusion –”

“I don’t need a transfusion,” Al dismisses. Her voice doesn’t rise above a whisper, and she’s still breathing too quickly.

“I don’t know,” Morgan says. Concern laces into his features, and he looks to Alicia. “We’re not doctors.”

“Maybe we should give her a chance,” Victor says. “See how she does.”

“I’m right here,” Al reminds. “And I don’t want a transfusion.”

“Fine,” Alicia agrees. “No transfusion, but if you bust those stitches and you start bleeding again –”

“Fine,” Al says through her teeth.

“Let’s clean up,” Alicia suggests. Something feels different about being covered in a living person’s blood. The blood from the dead hasn’t bothered Alicia since the first couple weeks of the outbreak. There’s something wrong about the dead’s blood. Something cold and slick. Dead, frankly, is the only way to describe it. But Al’s blood is warm, sticky, and the perfect visualization of all the blood on Alicia’s hands so far. Most recently Mel’s and Charlie’s.

Alicia forces herself to her feet and follows Luciana out of the van so they can properly wash the blood off themselves. Alicia wipes away the smear of blood dried on Luciana’s forehead. They don’t talk until they’re sure they’ve washed all the blood away. Alicia’s eyes lift to the setting sun, to the deep orange tones in the sky.

“You killed Charlie,” Luciana says, pulling Alicia’s eyes to her face.

“Yes.”

Luciana nods, sniffles once, and looks away. “For Nick?” Luciana asks.

“And my mom,” Alicia says. “And for everyone in the stadium.”

Alicia’s eyes flick over to the abandoned stadium, down to the dead walkers, charred from the fire the Vultures had set.

“I don’t blame you,” Luciana says. “For doing it.”

Alicia nods. “You get it.”

“I get it.”

Alicia exhales heavily and pushes her hands through her hair, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to shoot Al,” she says. “Really. I was aiming for June.”

“I know,” Luciana says.

“If she dies –”

Alicia’s voice falters, but Luciana smiles and says, “We aren’t there yet, Alicia. She’s alive. We’ll watch her.”

“If she dies, it’s on me,” Alicia finishes. “And she didn’t do anything to me to deserve to die.”

Luciana nods and squeezes Alicia’s shoulder. “She’s okay,” Luciana says softly. “You’ve done everything you can.”

Alicia shakes her head. “Not yet. She has to make it through the night, and we’re –” Alicia’s voice breaks, but she quickly clears her throat to cover it. “We’re where my mom died.”

Luciana uses her hold on Alicia’s shoulder to pull her in, and Alicia doesn’t resist the embrace even though her whole body tenses. She doesn’t remember the last time she touched another a person for comfort. Alicia gets her arms around Luciana’s neck and lets her eyes close until Luciana pulls away first.

“Are you okay?” Luciana asks.

“Yeah,” Alicia says. She forces a smile. “I feel good.”

“Okay. Let’s go back in.”

Alicia and Luciana return to the van to find Morgan packing his things. Before anyone can ask, Morgan says, “I’ll be off first thing in the morning, as long as Al’s still stable.”

Stunned silence follows, and Morgan goes back to packing his meager belongings up. He sets his bag by the back doors, double checks that the doors are all locked, and settles into the passenger’s seat for the night. Victor takes the driver’s seat, and Luciana sets up a bed for herself on the seats across from Al. She makes room for Alicia, but Alicia shakes her head.

“I’ll stay up with Al,” Alicia whispers. “I’m gonna try to get some of this blood off of her.”

“Al is still awake, you know,” Al says. She’s finally capable of speaking more normally, though her voice sounds strained.

“Al should shut up,” Alicia says. She softens her voice and adds, “Save your strength, Al.”

“You shot me,” Al reminds. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Do you want to keep wearing your blood or not?”

“I don’t really care,” Al grunts. “But it’s everywhere, so good luck if you’re gonna try to get it off.”

“Try to stay quiet back there,” Victor says over his shoulder.

“You be quiet,” Alicia retorts. Victor chuckles and gets comfortable up front, and Morgan’s already begun to snore. Luciana settles on her makeshift bed, turning her back to Alicia and Al. Alicia digs through some of Al’s belongings until she finds a clean rag and dampens it with water. “Just stay still,” she tells Al.

“I don’t have many other options, sweetheart. You shot me.”

“I know,” Alicia grumbles. “I was there.”

Al stays silent as Alicia gently wipes the blood from her stomach then back. Alicia does her best, but she can’t get it all, and it’s getting darker and harder to see. As if Al’s reading Alicia’s mind, Al says, “There’s a flashlight – one of those big ones – over in that corner.”

Alicia nods and goes to retrieve it, setting it up so the light’s aimed at Al. Alicia’s able to wipe more of the blood away now that there’s a light source. She throws the bloodied rag out and washes her hands with water. Al settles on her side again, exhaling heavily, and she runs her hand through her sweat soaked hair.

“You good?” Alicia asks. She dries her hands and takes a seat in the aisle beside Al’s head, crossing her legs. Al lifts her eyes to Alicia’s face, and she cracks a weary, pained smile.

“Oh, yeah, Alicia, I’m just great,” she says. “About as great as you can be when you’ve been shot and had a guy digging around in there for a bullet that went all the way through.”

“What?” Alicia says.

“Morgan was poking at it,” Al says. “All that screaming? Yeah. Took him a while to notice the exit wound.”

“I’ll kill him,” Alicia says, but Al scoffs.

“He was trying to help while you were off murdering a child, I guess.”

Alicia recoils, and her legs uncross. She plants her boots on the floor and wraps her arms around her legs. “She killed my brother,” Alicia says. “Brought down our home, led to the deaths of my mom and my friends. She got what was coming.”

“Justify it however you want,” Al says. “You still killed a child.”

“And shot you instead of June.”

“And shot me instead of June,” Al agrees. “And thanks to that, I’ll probably be dead within the next couple of days, too.”

“Don’t say that,” Alicia says. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah. I could’ve killed a child.”

“Just shut up about it, okay?” Alicia snaps.

Al grins, but it turns into a grimace, and Alicia watches Al reach for the entrance wound then think better of it. Al’s hand curls into a fist, and she rests it on the seat. “What?” Al teases, though her face is still contorted in pain. “Is that something of a sore spot for you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, and I especially don’t want to talk about it with _you_.”

“You shot me,” Al says. “You owe me, Alicia.”

Alicia glares at Al then watches a bead of sweat roll down Al’s forehead. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Alicia asks. “You’re really sweaty.”

“I was shot, and we’re in Texas. It’s hot. People sweat when it’s hot.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Do you want a shirt?” she asks.

“Why? Not into what you’re seeing?” Al jokes. She grins again as Alicia’s face heats up, and Alicia makes a mental note not to look anywhere but at Al’s face. Al’s in a bra, but still, Alicia doesn’t need any more of her smartass comments.

“I’m just trying to be nice,” Alicia mutters.

“We passed _nice_ earlier today. You know. When you shot me,” Al says. “But it’s too hot for a shirt. Look at you. You’re sweating, too.”

“Yeah,” Alicia breathes, looking away from Al. “But that’s because I’ve been having a panic attack since I stitched you up.”

Al pauses. “You mean you were having a panic attack when you were –” She mimes stitching rather than saying it, and Alicia shrugs.

“A little. It got worse when I finished.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” Alicia says. “I don’t know. I’m just…anxious.”

“You’ve had a long day,” Al says. “Unlike some of us.”

“Shut up,” Alicia replies. “I didn’t mean to shoot you, okay? I missed.”

“You didn’t mean to shoot me, but here I am with a bullet sized hole in my abdomen,” Al says wryly. “Your intentions don’t really matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Alicia says, running her hand through her hair. Her eyes lock with Al’s again, and she hopes Al can see how sincere she’s being. “I’m sorry,” Alicia repeats, softer this time.

Al waves her off. “If you were really sorry, you’d be offering me prescription strength pain pills by now.”

Alicia’s eyes widen. “God, I totally forgot!” she exclaims.

Al shushes her. “You’re gonna wake the others.”

“Victor can sleep through anything,” Alicia dismisses, but she takes care to keep her voice down. She rummages through the backpack until she comes up with the bottle of hydrocodone and figures that’ll work. Alicia grabs a bottle of water and squints in the minimal light in an attempt to read the label on the bottle.

“What are you doing?” Al asks.

“Trying to figure out how many to give you.”

“Just give me the bottle,” Al says, turning her palm up.

“No,” Alicia says softly. She twists the lid off and shakes one of the pills into her hand. “Just take one. See if it works.”

Al rolls her eyes and accepts the pill. She’s in no shape to fight Alicia for the bottle anyway. Al manages to lift her head enough to gulp down some of the water, but Alicia tips the bottle too much and pours water down Al’s chin.

“Sorry,” Alicia says.

“You’re really pushing your luck today, Clark,” Al says, but she flashes a smile and wipes the water away. Al shifts on the seat, grunting, and Alicia hopes the one pill will be enough. The last thing they need is for Al to develop an opioid addiction.

“Is there anything I can do?” Alicia asks.

“Yeah,” Al says. “Stop talking. Maybe give me some space.”

Alicia pointedly slides her ass back a few inches, and it draws a smile from Al. Alicia smiles back and flips her hair out of her eyes, encircling her legs and pulling them toward her chest.

“You aren’t tired?” Alicia asks.

“I’m exhausted,” Al admits. “But there’s kind of all this stabbing pain in my stomach. I wonder why that might be.”

“There’s no reason to be passive aggressive,” Alicia shoots. “I know what I did.”

Al grins, and Alicia’s heart picks up the pace. She’s afraid she’s about to lapse into a real panic attack, but she manages to calm herself down.

“So you aren’t tired, either?” Al questions.

“I’m exhausted, too,” Alicia says. She shakes her head and chews on her lower lip. “I know I won’t be able to fall asleep, though. My mind won’t shut off.”

“Because you killed that kid?”

“And shot you,” Alicia says. “But thanks for continuing to remind me.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

“You know, when you call me sweetheart, it makes me want to punch you,” Alicia says.

“Go ahead,” Al challenges. “Punch the poor, defenseless woman that you already shot.”

Alicia shoots her a glare, but she can’t maintain it long. She has other things on her mind.

“You should drink more water,” Alicia says. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh well,” Al says. “If I live, I live. If I don’t…I’ve had a pretty good life, I think. Just make sure my tapes get into the right hands for me, okay?”

“You aren’t going to die,” Alicia says.

“Just promise me so I can think about something else.”

Alicia hesitates, but she nods. “Okay. I promise.”

“And if I die, kill me,” Al adds. “Don’t leave me to be one of those soulless monsters.”

“Got it.”

Al grins lopsidedly. “The painkillers are working.”

“That’s good,” Alicia chuckles.

“I think I need more, though.”

“You just said it’s working.”

“Yeah,” Al says, “but it’s not enough to actually get me high.”

Alicia hits her on the arm, and Al laughs. Luciana stirs behind Alicia, but she drops back into sleep. “You don’t need to get high,” Alicia says.

Al rubs her arm. “You shot me, man,” she complains. “At least let me have this.”

“We have no way to treat an overdose.”

“I won’t overdose,” Al dismisses. “I know what I’m doing. And the pain’s not even totally gone. Watch.”

Alicia, luckily, intercepts Al’s hand before she can prod at the gunshot wound, but Al puts up a fight. Alicia wrangles Al’s arms away from her stomach while Al laughs. Al gives in, shoving Alicia’s arms away first then pushing at her chest.

“Get out of my space,” Al says. A smile lingers on her face. “I’m almost half naked. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Keep your hands away from your wound,” Alicia retorts. “You’ll make it worse.”

Al gives a half shrug with the shoulder not pressed to the seats and combs her fingers through her hair again. Alicia watches little droplets of sweat fall from the ends of Al’s hair, but Al doesn’t seem to mind it, slicking her hair back from her face with her palm.

“Why are you still up?” Al asks.

“I already told you –”

“With me,” Al clarifies. “Why are you sitting up with me?”

“It’s a small space,” Alicia says. “There aren’t many places for me to go if I want to stay inside.”

“My bullshit radar is going off,” Al says. “Come on. You murdered a kid in cold blood –”

“A kid that took _everything_ from me.”

“But you feel bad about shooting me, and I’m not even dead,” Al finishes. “So you’re planning on sitting up with me all night even though you don’t have to in an attempt to somehow make it better. Am I close?”

“I’m gonna punch you,” Alicia mutters.

“So I’m right,” Al says. “Good to know.”

“Do you want me to go?” Alicia asks. “I can join Luci and pretend like I’m asleep and let you lie here alone, in silence.”

“You don’t take orders from me. Do what you want.”

“You’re so difficult,” Alicia sighs. “Maybe I should’ve aimed at June’s head, because I probably would’ve shot you in the chest instead, and this would all be over.”

“Harsh,” Al laughs. Then grimaces. “Stop being funny. It hurts.”

“It wasn’t even that funny,” Alicia mumbles. She releases her hold on her legs and lets them stretch out in front of her. She leans against the side of the seats just ahead of Al’s head. “You know,” Alicia says once the silence starts to drag out a little too long, “I could’ve taken a second shot at June.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Alicia says, “because I probably would’ve hit John instead.”

Al snorts. “Yeah, I know you would have.”

Back to uncomfortable silence. Alicia stares toward the front of the van, where Morgan and Victor are apparently having a snore-off. She braces her elbow on the edge of the seat and props her head up with her hand.

“You know what’s weird?” Alicia says quietly.

“What?”

“You were right. I _do_ feel bad about shooting you, but I don’t feel bad about killing the Vultures. Any of them. Actually, I feel pretty good about it.”

Out of her peripheral vision, Alicia watches Al’s muscles tense. Al stays silent for so long, Alicia almost thinks she’s fallen asleep, but when Alicia turns her head to look down at Al, her eyes are open.

“That’s not…good,” Al finally says.

“I didn’t say it was.”

Al shifts and gets her hand under her head, propping it up as Alicia shifts back, eyebrows raising. She doesn’t like the way Al’s staring at her. Like she’s trying to read her or something.

“Are you really fascinated by serial killers?” Al asks abruptly. “I’m just curious.”

“Shut up,” Alicia says. “I’m not a serial killer.”

“Then what are you?”

Alicia cracks a smile. “So we’re getting existential tonight?”

“If you want.”

Alicia shakes her head and grabs onto the edge of the seat near Al’s elbow. “We all kill people,” Alicia says.

“We don’t all like it, though,” Al replies.

“They deserved what they got.”

“Okay,” Al says simply.

“You’re judging me.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Al defends. “And I’m really not in any position to judge you, I promise.”

“I just – now that they’re dead, I feel like I can breathe again.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Al says.

“That’s a first,” Alicia says.

Al’s eyebrows quirk upward momentarily, but she stays silent, and Alicia thinks maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut.

“I should change your bandages,” Alicia says. “The last thing you need is to get an infection.”

Al’s arm shoots out, and she grabs onto Alicia’s wrist with considerable force, stopping Alicia from getting up. “You need to promise me something,” Al says.

Alicia shifts uneasily. She’s on her knees beside Al, halfway to being up, and Al hasn’t let go of her wrist yet. Alicia dares to make eye contact with Al before asking, “What?”

“If it gets infected,” Al says slowly, “or if it becomes obvious that I’m not going to survive it, for whatever reason, I need you to promise me that you’ll kill me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Alicia says.

“Promise me.”

Alicia falters. “Fine,” she agrees. “I promise. But only when I’m absolutely certain you can’t survive it.”

Al nods stiffly and lets go of Alicia’s wrist. Alicia gets to her feet and grabs the antiseptic and fresh bandages. Alicia kneels back down on the floor and carefully peels off the bandage on Al’s stomach. In the light from the flashlight, Alicia takes a moment to study the stitches. They’re holding, and there’s some inflammation, but Alicia figures that must be normal. The stitches are kind of a hack job. Alicia dabs at the wound with an antiseptic soaked gauze pad and tries not to let the small moans of pain from Al distract her. Alicia places a clean bandage over the wound and exhales, turning her gaze to Al’s face.

Al’s eyes are squeezed shut, hands clenched into fists, and Alicia half considers offering her another pill. But it’s probably just because Alicia’s poking at it, so instead, Alicia asks, “Are you good?”

“Do I look good?” Al retorts.

“Depends on how you mean that,” Alicia jokes. Alicia earns herself a quick smile from Al. “I mean, on one hand, you look like absolute shit,” Alicia says. She places her hand against Al’s side, above the wound, and thankfully, Al takes the cue and shifts onto her front.

“But on the other?” Al questions.

Alicia removes the bandage on Al’s back and flinches as Al hisses in pain when the antiseptic soaked gauze pad touches the exit wound. Al catches Alicia’s eye, and Alicia smirks. “On the other hand,” Alicia says softly, “you’re pretty easy on the eyes. Most of the time.”

Al snorts. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“That’s all you’re getting out of me,” Alicia replies.

“That was a very weak attempt at hitting on me,” Al quips.

Alicia hums and bandages the exit wound. She watches as Al settles on her side once more. “You’re still in pain,” Alicia observes.

“It’s fine,” Al says. “You should really get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Alicia assures her. She sits on the floor next to Al’s head once more. Their eyes meet, and Alicia smiles slightly.

“If you’re going to stay up with me,” Al says, “at least make it worth my while.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Hit on me for real,” Al teases.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Alicia chuckles, swiping a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”

“No,” Alicia says pointedly.

“Then tell me your deepest, darkest secret,” Al says.

“I don’t have one,” Alicia says. “You already know I killed a kid. It doesn’t get much worse. Why don’t you tell me _your_ deepest, darkest secret?”

“Because I’m the one in pain,” Al says. “Because _you_ caused the pain I’m in.”

Alicia flinches. She takes a chance, preparing herself for a snarky comment or full on rejection, and she pushes Al’s sweat drenched hair back from her forehead. Al stares up at her as Alicia lets her hand linger in Al’s hair, stroking her fingers through it.

“You’ve got a handful of sweat now, sweetheart,” Al murmurs.

“I was wearing your blood earlier,” Alicia reminds. “Sweat’s not so bad.”

Al cracks a weary smile. “So you won’t hit on me but you can put your hands on me?”

“It’s not like I’m –”

“And you’ve been staring at my chest since the moment you stepped in here,” Al interrupts.

Alicia sputters. “I – I have _not_!”

“I know when my chest is being stared at, especially since I’m not wearing a shirt, and you keep looking, Alicia. There’s no shame in it.”

Alicia’s face burns red, and she stammers, but she’s unable to form a coherent sentence. Amusement shines in Al’s eyes, just masking the pain Alicia knows she’s in. Alicia’s hand stays frozen in Al’s hair. Slowly, Al grins.

“You’re so cute when you’re all flustered,” Al says. “How could someone as adorable as you kill an unarmed kid?”

“Very easily,” Alicia snaps. She starts to pull her hand back from Al’s hair, but Al catches Alicia’s hand in her own, presses her fingers into Alicia’s palm. Their hands hover in the space between them, sort of in front of Al’s neck, and they both just stare at each other for a long time. So long Alicia starts to fidget.

“Put your hand back in my hair,” Al finally says. She releases her hold on Alicia’s hand, and Alicia’s too dumbfounded to do anything but what she’s told. Al’s eyes close as Alicia’s hand gently slips through her hair, but Al’s eye twitches, and her jaw clenches.

“What can I do?” Alicia asks softly. “About the pain.”

“Give me another pill.”

Alicia purses her lips. “It hasn’t been four hours yet. You’re only supposed to take one –”

“Then kiss me.”

Alicia’s jaw hangs open as her brain processes Al’s words. The words make perfect sense. The meaning behind the words is a different story.

“What?” Alicia manages to stutter.

Al’s eyes open. Al smirks and suppresses a pained sound in the back of her throat, eyebrows pulling together. “You want to do something?” Al whispers. She swallows hard. “Then distract me from the pain, if you’re not going to drug me up.”

“I –”

“You don’t have to,” Al adds. “I’m just…giving you permission.”

Alicia nods, strokes her fingers through Al’s hair, and thinks. “I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time,” Alicia admits, as embarrassing as it is to say aloud.

Al cracks a smile, closing her eyes once more. “Neither have I,” she says. “But I get it. I’m sweaty and gross, and you give off hardcore straight vibes anyway.”

Alicia laughs, stifling the sound with her hand. “You’re sure this isn’t the drugs talking?”

“You didn’t give me nearly enough for this to be the drugs talking,” Al complains. She grunts, and Alicia tentatively touches her fingertips to the side of Al’s face, lightly trailing them down to her jaw as her other hand continues to stroke through Al’s hair. Alicia’s heart hammers in her throat, and she swallows then wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. Alicia’s half afraid Al’s gone and fallen asleep, but her jaw clenches again and Al exhales heavily.

“What’s going on in your head?” Al asks.

“I’m deciding,” Alicia informs.

“Deciding?”

“Whether to drug you up or kiss you.”

Al hums. “Either sounds nice. I have a slight preference for the drugs, though.”

“Shut up,” Alicia says, fighting off a smile. It’s really not necessary, though, because Al’s eyes remain shut. “You really want to kiss a child killer?” Alicia jokes, but her voice breaks on the last word, and she has to struggle to control the sudden stinging in her eyes.

“I’ve spoken to a lot of people, Alicia,” Al says. Alicia drags her fingers from Al’s jaw down to the side of her neck, feeling the vibrations in Al’s throat as she speaks. “That’s not nearly the worst thing anyone’s ever done in this world.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Alicia whispers.

“You felt good earlier.”

“And now it’s the middle of the night, and we’re parked at the place that my mom died, and I –” Alicia stops when her voice breaks once again, and she nearly loses her composure fully. She only keeps it together because she panics when Al opens her mouth to respond, and she doesn’t want to know what Al might have to say to that. Alicia’s palm presses flat against Al’s neck as she pulls herself forward, doing the only thing she knows will shut Al up. Besides, she already has Al’s permission.

Alicia inhales raggedly through her nose the moment her lips touch Al’s. She tightens her hold on Al’s hair as relief washes over her – she’s stunned Al into silence, just as she intended. She feels Al’s fingers curl into the front of her shirt, though her grasp is weak. Al lets Alicia set the pace, even though Alicia’s clumsy and her thumb is probably jabbing uncomfortably into Al’s throat.

Alicia stays gentle, eyes squeezed shut, at least until she feels a wetness that isn’t due to the fact that Al’s face is covered in a sheen of sweat. Al’s grip loosens on Alicia’s shirt, and she’s trying to bring her hand up toward Alicia’s face, so Alicia needs to stop that. It’s kind of hard from the odd angle she’s at, given that she’s on her knees, leaning over Al, but Alicia manages to deepen the kiss and momentarily distract Al. Al’s hand goes off its intended course, grabs onto Alicia’s bicep instead.

A moan rumbles in Al’s throat as Alicia’s tongue glides along her lower lip, and Alicia’s chest burns from a lack of air. Alicia barely manages to inhale properly and realizes Al’s other hand – the one not holding onto her arm – is at her thigh. Al’s fingers are curled against the back of Alicia’s leg, literally pressed into the space right below Alicia’s ass. But Alicia’s hands tremble, and that’s not the sort of thing Al misses.

Al makes a sound that’s close to a moan but shifts her head back just enough to detach them. Something splashes against Al’s face right as she breathes, “Alicia, stop –”

“Don’t,” Alicia says. “Please.”

Al lets go of Alicia’s arm, manages to get her hand up to Alicia’s face. Alicia flinches like she’s been slapped, but it doesn’t deter Al from swiping her thumb through the tear track on Alicia’s cheek. Alicia can feel Al’s eyes on her even though her own eyes haven’t opened, and Alicia can’t stop her lower lip from quivering.

“It’s okay,” Al says softly. Alicia grits her teeth and wonders how Al can say such a thing when obviously _nothing_ is okay. “Alicia,” Al says. “Look at me.”

Alicia’s eyes pop open, and they quickly brim with tears when she sets them on Al’s gentle, totally nonjudgmental face. Al continues to cup Alicia’s cheek in her hand, carefully catches the tears against her thumb and swipes them away.

“I’d offer you a spot next to me,” Al murmurs, “but I don’t think that’s going to work if you don’t want me to bust my stitches.”

Alicia shakes her head and pulls back from Al’s touch, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s fine,” Alicia says. “Do you want another pill?”

“No.”

“But you’re in pain.”

“I’m okay,” Al lies. Al’s eyes study Alicia’s face as Alicia settles back onto her ass on the floor of the van, dabbing at her eyes still. Alicia can’t bring herself to meet Al’s gaze, to see the concern in her eyes. Al reaches out but hesitates, seeming to think better of it, but Alicia snags her hand out of the air and clutches onto it with both of her own. Al doesn’t say anything, and for a long time, they stay as they are, just breathing.

“You need to rest,” Alicia finally says. “You had a long day.”

“So did you.”

“Not as long as yours, though,” Alicia says, forcing a smile. “Just sleep, okay? I’ll be here if you need something.”

“You need to sleep, too,” Al says.

“Don’t worry about me,” Alicia says. “I’ll – I’ll get some rest, too, okay? But wake me up if something’s wrong. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Alicia nods and carefully sets Al’s hand on the seats. Alicia slides down and lies on her back on the floor of the van. She closes her eyes, and before she knows it, she’s out. She wakes up disoriented, unsure of what really happened and what she dreamt, but there’s someone stepping around her and hushed voices.

“Are you sure?” Luciana asks quietly. Alicia keeps her eyes shut and breathes as evenly as she can.

“Al’s as good as she can be for now,” Morgan answers. “Alicia showed yesterday she’s more than capable of treating Al. I’ll be on my way.”

There’s a pause before Victor says, “Okay. Be careful out there.”

Morgan must nod or something, because the next thing Alicia hears is the back of the van closing.

“Should we wake her?” Luciana asks.

“Yes,” Victor answers. “Just get her on the seats and join me up front.”

Alicia’s eyes pop open the moment Luciana touches her shoulder, and she startles Luciana slightly. “Sorry,” Alicia grunts. “What’s going on?”

“Morgan left,” Luciana says.

“How’s Al?” Alicia questions.

“Still asleep,” Luciana says, bringing her index finger to her lips to let Alicia know to speak quieter. “Yes, she’s breathing. I already changed the bandages. She’ll be set until she wakes up.”

“She needs to drink water,” Alicia says, pushing herself to her feet. She glances down at Al, but Luciana wasn’t lying. Al’s asleep, breathing steadily. She’s not sweating as bad as before, either.

“When she wakes up, we’ll make her,” Luciana assures Alicia. Luciana pauses. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah. I’m – I’m good,” Alicia says. She doubts she’s convinced Luciana, but Luciana doesn’t push her, just nods.

“Sit down, okay?” Luciana says, motioning for Alicia to take the seats across from Al. “We need to go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Alicia asks.

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Victor replies.

“Well, there’s still one Vulture left,” Alicia says quietly. Her eyes land on Al again. She doesn’t know what Al would think about choosing to pursue June and John Dorie, to actually finish destroying every last Vulture, and she’s not going to wake her to find out.

“She has the keys,” Victor tells Alicia.

Alicia nods and crosses over to Al. She gently pats over the front pockets of Al’s pants and finds the keys. She carefully slips them out of the pocket without disturbing Al and tosses them to Victor.

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” Luciana asks.

Alicia presses her lips together and nods again. “The Vultures ruined our lives,” Alicia says. “There’s one left. Let’s go find her.”

Victor looks to Luciana in the passenger’s seat then nods. He starts the SWAT van’s engine. Alicia takes her seat across from Al again as the engine roars to life and folds her hands in her lap. Unlike last night, Alicia feels nothing. No remorse. No guilt. It’s like the tears washed it all away, and now she can focus on her last goal. Alicia’s mind flicks back to the time she spent with Al last night, particularly when she said others have done worse. Alicia touches her fingertips to her lips, thinks of what it was like to kiss Al, and hopes Al won’t judge her too harshly when she wakes up.

“Where do we start?” Victor asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder as they pull onto the road.

“They can’t have gone very far,” Alicia answers. “And John said something about a cabin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By changing one event - Alicia shooting Al rather than John - here's how I determined what would go down (basically the events of the story broken down):  
> Since John's life isn't in danger, June takes off with him.  
> June and Morgan never go into the stadium then because John's life isn't in danger, and Al isn't capable of preventing Alicia from immediately killing Charlie in revenge because Al is the injured one.  
> With John and June gone and Al stable, Morgan takes off, unable to bring himself to stick with Alicia's group now that Alicia's revenge has been (almost) completed.  
> So basically the rest of season 4 and 5 would occur way differently, so we'll see if anything comes of that lol.
> 
> Hopefully next I'll get the last chapter of When It's All Over up, then I'll be working on an Al/Isabelle story and possibly more prequels for Crash! (Also I think I have a slight thing for one word titles.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	2. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm continuing this? Honestly I have no clue how long it'll be (but I'm hoping not too long). Apparently I can't just write one-shots anymore, so here's the second chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

Al wakes up yelling. Alicia startles out of her half-asleep state and jumps to her feet.

“What’s happening?” Luciana calls from the front, twisting around in the passenger’s seat.

“I don’t know!” Alicia blurts. “Hey! Al!”

Alicia grips onto Al’s bicep. Every muscle in Al’s body has gone rigid, and blood starts to seep through the bandage on her stomach. Al’s eyes stay squeezed shut, and she keeps on yelling but manages to grab a fistful of Alicia’s shirt. Luciana hurries to help Alicia, but Alicia’s frozen, unable to think of what she should do, let alone actually do it.

“Stop the van!” Luciana commands. The SWAT van screeches to a stop, and Victor joins them in the back, huddled around Al. “She busted her stitches,” Luciana says.

“I know,” Alicia says.

“You’re the only one who can fix them,” Victor says. He reaches over and pries Alicia’s hand off Al’s bicep. Her grip was tight enough to bruise, and when Victor doesn’t immediately let go of Alicia’s hand, Alicia meets his gaze.

“I don’t – what if I do it wrong?” Alicia whispers.

“You can do it,” Victor assures her. He grasps onto Alicia’s shoulder but turns his attention to Luciana. “Shut her up. Please.”

“She’s in pain,” Alicia interjects. “The pills –”

“You really think she’s going to be able to reliably swallow anything?” Victor questions. “Stitches first, pain later. Luci.”

Luciana nods and finds a clean shirt. She bundles it up and pushes it to Al’s mouth, both muffling the screaming and giving Al something to bite down on. Luciana murmurs apologies, strokes Al’s hair, and promises it’ll get better before turning her panic-stricken gaze to Alicia.

“Okay,” Alicia says, pushing her hands into her hair. “Okay, where’s the – never mind. Got it. Alright.”

Alicia flips through the manual, looking for anything to help her. She thinks she can do this. She gathers the supplies she needs and sterilizes her hands as Victor climbs back into the front.

“They’re coming,” Victor informs grimly.

“What?” Luciana says.

“The dead,” Victor replies. “Lots.” He shakes his head and mutters, “She couldn’t have waited twenty more minutes when we’d be clear of this town, could she?”

“That’s not helpful,” Alicia snaps. Her hands shake, but she clenches them into fists until it stops. “Can you hold them off?” Alicia asks.

“By myself?” Victor asks, returning to the back. “Not for long.”

“Buy us all the time you can,” Alicia tells him. She points to where her gun barrel is stashed. “Stay close to the van. When you can’t kill anymore…try to drive as smoothly as possible so I don’t fuck this up too much.”

Victor nods and grabs the gun barrel. He wastes no time in going outside while Alicia gives her full attention to the current problem. She checks the exit wound first, but that bandage isn’t blood soaked. Alicia has Luciana help her get Al settled on her back. Alicia rips the bandage off Al’s stomach, but she can’t see the stitches through the blood.

“Luci,” Alicia says. “I need your hands.”

Al shakes her head vigorously, and Luciana strokes her hand over Al’s hair one last time. Luciana grabs Al’s hand and presses it against the shirt in place of her own. “Hold that,” Luciana orders. “Try to stay quiet.”

Al’s eyes water, but Luciana shifts over to help Alicia. “I can’t see,” Alicia says. She splashes antiseptic onto the wound, which momentarily clears the blood away, but more blood quickly replaces what’s been washed away.

“We have to stop the bleeding first,” Luciana says.

“And what if it doesn’t stop?” Alicia questions. “I think I should repair –”

“You can’t see what you’re doing,” Luciana interrupts. “And you’re no expert.”

Alicia’s blood runs cold. “She needs someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“No,” Luciana says firmly. “She needs you to fix this _now_. She can’t keep bleeding –”

“Or she dies,” Alicia murmurs. “I know.”

“Just hold on, honey,” Luciana says in the most soothing voice she can manage. She reaches over and grasps onto Al’s shoulder as Alicia presses a wad of gauze against the wound. Al’s yelling intensifies, and Alicia’s eyes flick over to the back of the van. Through the one open door, she sees Victor slaughtering walker after walker with the gun barrel. He’ll tire out before long, and he wasn’t lying. There are lots.

“We can’t stay here,” Alicia says. “Her yelling’s going to draw them for miles.”

“Stop the bleeding,” Luciana says. “You can fix the stitches once we’re clear of this town.”

Alicia nods and applies more pressure, even though it makes Al scream louder into the shirt. Alicia flinches but doesn’t let up. Luciana scrambles to the back and shouts for Victor then runs and launches herself into the driver’s seat, starting the engine. The van starts moving the second Victor’s in the back. He’s barely got the door closed before they peel off, and he slumps down to the ground, breathing heavily. The gun barrel clatters to the floor beside him, slick with walker brains.

“Change of plans, I take it,” Victor exhales.

“I have to stop the bleeding first,” Alicia says. “I can repair the stitching once we’re out of this town. We can stop somewhere safe.”

“Safer, you mean,” Victor corrects. He still gasps for air, and Alicia points him to the water bottles. Al slowly begins to ease up on the screaming, and her muscles relax slightly.

“Victor, the pills,” Alicia says. “Get the pills and drug her up.”

Victor finishes gulping down water and locates the bottle of hydrocodone. “How many?”

“Hell if I know,” Alicia replies. “How much is too much before you overdose?”

Victor reads the bottle and shakes two pills into his hand. “Don’t give her more for another six hours, at least,” he instructs. “That’s some strong shit.”

The van hits a bump, and Victor nearly flings the pills into oblivion, only just managing to hold onto them and keep himself on his feet at the same time. Al lets out a groan of protest as Alicia’s hands jostle around over the wound, and Alicia whispers quiet apologies as Victor gets Al to swallow the pills.

“It’s going to be a rough ride,” Luciana calls over her shoulder. “There’s not a clear path.”

“Strap yourself in,” Alicia tells Victor.

“What about you?”

Alicia shakes her head. “I’ll be fine here,” she says. On her knees next to Al, with both her hands pressed to the bleeding wound. Alicia supposes she’ll find a way to stay put. Victor stares warily at Alicia for a moment but heads up front with Luciana. “You’re good,” Alicia tells Al, reaching over to stop Al from bringing the shirt back to her mouth.

“Get me something better to bite down on,” Al grunts. She drops the shirt to the ground as Alicia’s eyes search the van for something suitable. “Your belt,” Al says.

Alicia looks down. She pushes down on the wound with one hand and frees her belt from around her waist with the other. She passes the belt to Al and presses her hand over the other, silently urging the bleeding to stop. Al slots the belt between her teeth, face contorted in pain, and Alicia hopes the pain pills start working soon. She’d also accept Al just passing the fuck out, but Al hasn’t lost consciousness yet as far as Alicia knows.

The van hits a walker – maybe two – and Al cries out as Alicia’s hands cause the gauze to rub against the wound.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Alicia blurts. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

She knows Al isn’t capable of responding, but Al reaches down and covers Alicia’s hand with her own, just briefly. Alicia blinks away the sudden stinging in her eyes and refocuses her attention on the wound. Maybe it’s bleeding less. Alicia can’t tell. She just keeps pressure on it and hopes Luciana gets them somewhere isolated quickly. It’s the longest twenty minutes of Alicia’s life, so she can only imagine how Al’s feeling right about now.

Finally, the SWAT van rolls to a stop on an empty stretch of road. Luciana and Victor rejoin Alicia in the back, and Alicia slowly pulls the gauze pads away. She breathes a sigh of relief and pours antiseptic over the stitches.

“I think I can do this,” Alicia says.

“I know you can,” Victor tells her. “Do it quick, though. I’m sure the dead are right on our tail.”

“Where are we going anyway?” Al manages to say around the belt in her mouth.

Alicia hesitates and looks to Luciana, and Luciana looks to Victor. Victor merely shrugs and jams his hands into his pants pockets.

“Tell her,” Victor says. “It _is_ her van, after all.”

Alicia shakes her head and busies herself with repairing Al’s stitches. “We’re going after June,” Alicia says. Al’s body tenses. “Relax,” Alicia says. “And stop moving.”

Al pulls the belt from her mouth. “What do you _mean_ , we’re going after June?” Al hisses.

“She’s the last one,” Alicia says. She can feel Al staring at the side of her face, but she refuses to look over, refuses to take her eyes off the gunshot wound and the stitches she’s desperately trying to repair. “She’s the last Vulture,” Alicia clarifies.

“And once she’s dead?” Al questions. She lets out a sharp cry of pain, and Alicia quickly apologizes for the slip of the needle.

“Once she’s dead,” Alicia says, “I’ll be able to sleep well again.”

“Do you even know where to find them?”

“They can’t have gone far on foot,” Victor says. “And John said something about a cabin they stayed at.”

“Do you know where this cabin is – _Jesus_ , Alicia!”

“Sorry!” Alicia exclaims. “I’m trying my best!”

“Not exactly,” Victor answers. “But I bet you it’s close by.”

“So your plan is to drive around, wasting diesel, until you find them?” Al asks.

“Pretty much,” Victor confirms.

“That is a _stupid_ plan,” Al says. She grits her teeth as Alicia pokes around at the wound, quietly cursing to herself. “I want nothing to do with it,” Al adds.

Victor smiles thinly. “But it’s looking like you’re stuck with us, toots. You’re in no shape to be doing much of anything except riding along.”

“I stay behind the camera,” Al snaps.

“Deal,” Victor says. “But we’re using your van.”

“There’s not much I can do about that, remember?” Al says wryly.

“Not if you want to stay alive,” Victor says.

“Victor!” Alicia chastises, but Al quirks her eyebrows up.

“No, he’s right,” Al says. “I suppose I should be thanking you all for not throwing me on the side of the road and leaving me as an easy meal for the dead.”

“Stop,” Alicia says. “Everyone just shut up.”

“What’s the problem?” Victor asks. “We’re just having a lighthearted chat.”

Alicia’s hands still, and her eyes study the wound. “I don’t think I’m doing this right,” she mutters. “And I can’t focus with you guys hovering over me.”

Victor and Luciana back off, and Alicia consults the manual.

“Come on,” Al says breathlessly. “All you really have to do is slap some duct tape on it and be done.”

“Duct tape?” Alicia says in disbelief.

“I think the drugs are working,” Luciana says.

“I didn’t know hydrocodone made people incredibly stupid,” Alicia says.

“Hey!” Al laughs. “It’s a viable solution given our situation. It’s not like we can drive to a hospital anymore.”

“I’m not slapping duct tape on it,” Alicia says. “I can figure it out.” She pauses. “And if I can’t, we’re definitely going to have to find June.”

“Sooner rather than later,” Luciana says.

“I’m just afraid it’ll get infected,” Alicia says. “If it gets infected, I really won’t be able to do anything.”

“Doctors are in short supply nowadays, I’m afraid,” Victor says.

“But June’s a nurse,” Alicia says. “That’s good enough.”

“June’s gone,” Victor reminds. “She ran the second bullets started flying, and you tried to shoot her. I don’t think we’re going to receive a warm welcome from June – or John, for that matter. And that’s assuming we’re going to find them before Al kicks the bucket from infection or blood loss or whatever.”

“Thanks for spelling that out for us,” Alicia says sarcastically. She shakes her head. “That’s going to have to do for now.” She covers the stitches with a bandage and takes her belt back from Al. “Try not to move around too much,” Alicia suggests. “If you bust them again –”

“I know,” Al says. “But thanks for the heads up.” She pauses, and when no one else says anything, she asks, “So do you even have a plan or what?”

“We’re starting with everything in a ten mile radius. The stadium, of course, is the center point,” Victor explains.

“They couldn’t have gotten very far,” Luciana says.

“Unless they found a vehicle on the way,” Al points out. “Then they could already be out of Texas.”

“I don’t think John would want to leave Texas,” Luciana says.

“We barely know these people,” Al replies.

“What?” Alicia says. “You got something better to do?”

“Not now that I’ve been shot, no,” Al answers. “Can one of you grab me a shirt? Because if not, I think it’s only fair that we all go without one.”

Alicia rolls her eyes and snags a button down off the shelf. She tosses it onto Al’s chest, and Al smiles and shoves her arms through it. She doesn’t even bother to button it, letting it fall open. If you ask Alicia, that defeats the purpose of wearing a shirt.

“How do you feel?” Alicia asks.

“Great,” Al says without a hint of sarcasm. “But I’m starving.”

Alicia scrapes together a decent breakfast for Al and encourages her to drink water with it before Victor gets in the driver’s seat. Luciana offers the front seat to Alicia, but Alicia declines and sits in the back across from Al. Honestly, Alicia’s pretty hungry herself, but Victor and Luciana haven’t said anything about eating, and Alicia won’t raise the question.

Alicia gets lucky, though, and Al throws an unopened granola bar across the aisle into Alicia’s lap. “Eat that,” Al says. “You’re looking pretty thin.”

“So you’re looking?” Alicia teases.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of inappropriate to flirt with the woman you shot?” Victor says over his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up,” Alicia says. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“Right,” Victor says. He says something to Luciana that Alicia doesn’t hear, but Luciana stifles her laughter with her hand. Alicia shakes her head, muttering to herself as she tears the granola bar open. She’s aware that Al’s watching her – and she’s also aware that her face is heating up against her will.

“You should rest,” Alicia tells Al the moment she finishes eating. Al’s eyes haven’t left her yet.

“I woke up in agonizing pain,” Al replies. “I’m not too eager to go back to sleep.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic?” Alicia says.

“Where’s that Glock of yours?” Al asks. “So I can show you what kind of pain I’ve been in.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t be in as much pain now. You took pain pills.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Al dismisses. “But what happens when we run out?”

“We aren’t there yet.”

Al blinks. “That’s a terrible answer. And by the way, where’s Morgan?”

“I guess that didn’t come up,” Victor says. “Between the screaming and the bleeding and the dead.”

“He left,” Alicia says. “It’s just the four of us now.”

“No,” Al says. “It’s the three of you plus me.”

“Is there really a difference?” Alicia sighs. “Three plus one equals four.”

“Don’t mistake me as part of your group,” Al says quietly. “As Victor so graciously pointed out earlier, there’s not much I can do to stop you from using my van and taking me with you. First I just have to survive this.” She waves her hand over her stomach, but her eyes don’t leave Alicia’s face.

“We’ll take care of you,” Alicia promises.

“And what if I become too much of a burden?” Al questions. “Then what? How can I know you’re not going to throw me on the side of the road and steal my shit?”

Alicia inhales deeply and shakes her head. “I guess you’re just going to have to trust that I won’t let that happen.”

Al opens her mouth like she has something else to say but seems to think better of it. Alicia watches Al think over her next words carefully. “Bring me my camera.”

Alicia doesn’t argue. She hands the camera to Al and starts to move away, but Al grabs Alicia’s wrist before she gets far.

“What?” Alicia says.

“Help me sit up.”

“Maybe you should stay down,” Alicia says. “If you bust your stitches again, I’m going to have to do it all over, and you’ll need a transfusion for sure.”

“I won’t bust them,” Al says. “That’s why I’m asking you to help me sit up instead of just doing it myself.”

Al sets the camera on the floor and holds her hands out. Alicia purses her lips but grasps onto Al’s forearms and helps get her positioned upright. Alicia watches the bandages for any signs of blood, but there’s no change. Al picks the camera back up and plays back the footage from the day before, leading up to the firefight and the moment Al was shot by Alicia. Alicia hears the first gunshot ring out, followed by the sound of what must be the camera hitting the ground with Al, then Morgan’s panicked rambling. The tape cuts out shortly after, and Al stares at the camera with a dissatisfied look on her face.

“What’s the problem?” Alicia asks.

“I wish I could’ve gotten more footage of the fight,” Al says. “But I was a little busy, you know.”

“Because I shot you instead of June. I know,” Alicia mutters.

“Yeah,” Al agrees. “And if you would’ve shot June, you all wouldn’t be here right now, and I wouldn’t be one pill away from the best high of my life.”

“You want another pill? Take it. I don’t care –”

“You missed the point,” Al interrupts. “If you would’ve killed June the way you meant to, none of us would be here. None of this would be happening.”

Something akin to pain flashes on Alicia’s face, and she can’t help but wonder if maybe Al doesn’t remember what happened last night. Hydrocodone doesn’t fuck up your memory, right? Or maybe it’s the combination of the exhaustion, pain, and stress Al has been under since Alicia accidentally shot her. Maybe Al doesn’t remember. Or worse yet, maybe Al remembers. Maybe she just doesn’t care. Maybe Alicia has read way too far into everything.

“You’re right,” Alicia whispers. She clears her throat. “But it is what it is, now.” A weak smile flickers on Alicia’s face. “You’re stuck with us.”

“Just don’t expect me to help out too much,” Al grunts. “Like I said. I stay behind the camera.”

“Just don’t get yourself shot a second time,” Luciana says. She turns around and grins widely at Al. Much to Alicia’s surprise, Al smiles right back.

“John Dorie’s got wicked aim,” Victor pipes up.

“I don’t know how,” Luciana says. “He uses revolvers.”

“How stupid can you get?” Victor snorts. “You’ve got six shots at a time. That’s not very practical.”

“John Dorie isn’t very practical,” Alicia points out. There’s a pause before she says, “So what do we do about him? Once we find June. You know they’ll be together.”

Luciana shakes her head. “He’ll kill us,” Luciana says. “He’ll defend her until he’s dead.”

“You’ll kill an innocent man just so you can kill the last Vulture?” Al questions.

Alicia answers in the moments before she realizes the camera is recording. “Yes.”

Al nods as a look of horror crosses Alicia’s face. The camera stays on Alicia’s face, but Alicia’s throat has gone dry, and she’s completely lost the ability to speak.

“If he doesn’t get in the way, he’ll be fine,” Victor says.

“But he’ll get in the way,” Al says, turning the camera from Alicia’s face to the front of the van.

“Most likely, yes,” Victor agrees. “I’m willing to bet he’ll even shoot at us first.”

“Because he knows what you’re there to do,” Al says.

“Maybe,” Victor muses.

“But if he shoots first,” Luciana chimes in, “I’m not sure we’ll get a chance to shoot back.”

“Guys,” Alicia says, even though Al sets the camera on her face once more. “We have the perfect cover,” Alicia continues. Her eyes lock onto Al’s stomach, and Al shakes her head.

“No,” Al says. “No way. You aren’t using me to get John and June to trust you. That’s insane! It’s – it’s messed up.”

“It’ll work,” Victor says.

“How can you know?” Al demands. “It’s not like June and I are friends or anything. We barely know each other! Most of what I know about her comes from John, and John had to make up a name for her because she never gave him one. What makes you think she’s going to be willing to help me? She _ran_ when I got shot.”

“She knew I’d try to kill her,” Alicia says. “And she must’ve figured I shot you by mistake. You were pretty close together, and she has to know I had no real reason to shoot you.”

Al laughs, but it turns into a grimace, and she presses her hand against her side. Not over the wound, but next to it. “I can get on people’s nerves pretty easily, Alicia,” Al says. Her lips twist into a smirk. “So maybe June just figured I annoyed you a little too much.”

“She knows,” Alicia insists. “Charlie may have helped bring down the stadium, but June –” Alicia stares straight into the camera and cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Forget it,” Alicia says. “I’m not telling you shit while that camera’s on.”

“Suit yourself.”

The camera stays on. Was Al this irritating last night? Alicia tries to remember, but her mind keeps bringing her back to Al telling her to kiss her. Which, Alicia supposes, should also irritate her. Because maybe Al said that just to see if she could get Alicia to kiss her. Maybe Alicia should’ve drugged her up instead of giving in.

And they sort of had a moment? Or they could have, if Alicia hadn’t been difficult. But now Al’s back to business, hiding behind her camera and trying to act like she isn’t in any pain even though it’s clear every time the van hits a bump or a walker that Al feels it. Even with the hydrocodone in her system.

“Is this place a cabin?” Victor calls over his shoulder. Alicia stands and braces her hands on the backs of Victor’s and Luciana’s seats, peering out the windshield.

“I’d say so,” Alicia says. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Even if it isn’t John’s,” Luciana says, “it might have supplies.”

“We’re going to run out of food within the next few days,” Al informs. “The water will last maybe a week. So you better hope there’s supplies.”

Victor puts the van in park and kills the engine. “You let us worry about that, sweetie,” Victor says. He throws the keys onto Al’s lap. “Keep those safe.”

“You’re not worried about me driving off without you?” Al jokes. She films Victor’s reaction, the wide smile that crosses his face.

“I’m not even sure you can stand up on your own,” Victor replies. “So no, I’m not worried in the slightest.”

“Maybe someone should stay with her,” Luciana says. “Just in case.”

“In case what?” Victor questions. “In case she runs off? I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“In case someone – or something – is here,” Luciana says sharply. “She’s too hurt to defend herself.”

“I’ll stay,” Alicia volunteers.

“What if June’s here?” Luciana says. “Don’t you –”

“I have faith in you guys,” Alicia interrupts. “And if you have to kill her…well, at least she’ll be dead.”

“Then you can get some goddamn rest,” Victor finishes.

“Then I think all of us can get some rest,” Alicia says quietly. She nods toward the cabin. “Go. We’ll be fine here.”

Luciana hands Alicia a walkie then clips a second one to her belt. “Call if you need something,” Luciana says.

“Same to you,” Alicia replies. “Be careful.”

Luciana nods. She retrieves her rifle then follows after Victor toward the cabin. Alicia watches them enter the place with no issues, and she relaxes when there’s no sound of gunfire.

“So this is your revenge mission, but you’re sending your friends to do the dirty work for you?” Al questions. “All so you can sit here with me. I guess I should feel honored.”

“You know what?” Alicia says. She crosses the aisle and yanks the camera from Al’s hands. “If you’re going to be a jackass, you can’t film me. How’s that?”

Al winces, and Alicia falters but considers that maybe Al’s doing it for show. Alicia carefully sets the camera on top of Al’s safe then returns to her side.

“You’re in pain,” Alicia observes.

“No shit,” Al replies through her teeth.

“What did you do?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” Al answers.

Alicia brushes Al’s open shirt aside and peels the bandage back. Nothing’s bleeding. It just looks raw, probably because Alicia had to prod at it to fix the stitches earlier. Alicia refers to the manual and familiarizes herself with the signs of infection, but she’s almost certain they aren’t infected. Just irritated.

“You done yet?” Al huffs.

“What? Are you suddenly shy?” Alicia sneers. “Because you weren’t last night.”

Alicia checks their supplies, making a mental inventory of everything they have to work with. She figures she better start conserving the antiseptic, but they’re good on bandages, so she changes the bandage out then motions for Al to turn over. Al, of course, stays put.

“Come on,” Alicia says. “I need to change the bandage over the exit wound.”

“It’s fine.”

“Just turn around,” Alicia says.

“Easier said than done, sweetheart.”

“I told you, when you call me _sweetheart_ –”

“Then punch me,” Al challenges. “Right in the gut. Come on.”

Alicia hesitates. “You know I won’t do that.”

“Then don’t be making threats, sweetheart,” Al replies. She grins. “And stop staring at my chest.”

“Stop being an asshole,” Alicia retorts. “Turn around or I’ll make you.”

“Don’t make threats you won’t follow through –”

Alicia seizes a fistful of Al’s shirt at her shoulder. She barely tugs on it before Al hisses and holds her hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” Al says. “Jesus. Give me a hand.”

Alicia releases Al’s shirt and holds her hand out. Al manages to slide herself forward and give herself enough room to swivel around so Alicia has access to her back. Alicia takes a seat behind Al and reaches for the back of her shirt but finds herself hesitating.

“What’s taking so long?” Al questions.

“Shut up,” Alicia says. She pulls the back of Al’s shirt up and swaps the bandage for a fresh one. The exit wound looks considerably better than the entrance, but Alicia chalks that up to the fact that Al hasn’t busted those stitches open. Yet. There’s always time, Alicia supposes.

“So?” Al says. “All good?”

“They’re fine,” Alicia informs. She drops Al’s shirt back down and stands. “You’re good.”

“Help me turn back around,” Al says, holding her arm out. “I don’t want to face the back of the van the rest of the way.”

Alicia rolls her eyes but assists Al once more. Al stretches her legs across the seats and releases Alicia the moment she’s settled.

“You’re welcome,” Alicia grumbles.

“You shot me in the first place,” Al reminds. “I’m stuck here, in an _incredible_ amount of pain, because of you. I don’t think I should be thanking you.”

Alicia checks the time and tries not to let Al’s words sting. “Well, it hasn’t been six hours yet, so I can’t give you more pills. I guess you’ll just have to manage the pain for now.”

“And how am I going to do that?” Al asks.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Al grins slowly. “You gonna help me with that?”

Alicia sighs, but her heart starts to beat faster. “No,” she says. “That’s most definitely the drugs talking. Just like it was last night.”

Al’s eyebrows pull together. “Last night, I was barely on anything,” Al says. “Don’t blame my actions on drugs.”

“Then you’re confusing,” Alicia says.

“I’m confusing?” Al laughs. “What about you? You kill a kid with no remorse but feel bad about shooting me. You’re willing to kill an innocent man to get to the last Vulture, but you wouldn’t put a bullet in my head when I asked. As far as I can tell, Alicia Clark, you make no sense.”

Alicia balks. “The reasoning behind my actions don’t have to make sense to _you_ , Althea…” Alicia pauses and thinks for a moment. “You never told us your last name.”

Al smiles. “And that’s how it’s going to stay, sweetheart. Because I think we should get one thing straight.”

Alicia cocks an eyebrow at Al and puts her hands on her hips. “Oh? You’re going to hand out ultimatums in your condition?”

Al ignores her. “We aren’t friends,” Al says. “We aren’t buds. We barely qualify as travel companions, and that’s because I’m out of options if I want to stay alive. And if I really wanted to die, I wouldn’t have waited this long to do it, yeah? The moment I’m healed enough to take care of myself again, you and your friends are out of my life, got it?”

Alicia presses her lips together and finds herself unable to look Al in the eye any longer. “Why?” she asks.

“Why?” Al repeats. “Because that’s how this works. Unless you’re going to ditch me before I can fend for myself.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Exactly,” Al says.

Alicia shakes her head. “But last night –” She cuts herself off. Honestly, it’s not worth it.

“What about it?” Al asks. Her voice, oddly enough, has softened, and so has her expression. Alicia has a hard time maintaining eye contact for long, though.

“Forget it,” Alicia says. Her eyes turn to the windshield, and she spots Luciana and Victor emerging, alone. “They’re back, anyway.”

“If you have something to say –”

“Save it, okay?” Alicia snaps. “You made yourself clear.”

Alicia flings the back door open and steps out. It’s a lot cooler than she was expecting. The sun’s hidden behind the clouds, and there’s a nice breeze. It’s not even overly humid. She inhales deeply and tries to will her heart to slow down before she meets up with Victor and Luciana.

“So?” Alicia asks. “Nothing?”

Victor shakes his head. “No sign of anyone,” he says.

“Not for a long time, at least,” Luciana adds.

“But, there is good news,” Victor says. “Supplies. Lots.”

“But no bodies? Nothing?”

“No bodies, no traces of life or death in the place,” Luciana confirms. “It seems like whoever lived here just up and abandoned it, left it fully stocked.”

“Probably went off and died out in the world,” Victor wonders aloud. “I’d guess suicide, but I’d assume the poor bastard would want to die at home. Since there’s no body…” Victor shrugs.

“I think we should stay,” Luciana says. “For the night, at least. It’ll give us a chance to sleep somewhere comfortable. I mean, sorting through and loading up the supplies alone is going to take most of the day. I don’t want to drive through the night.”

“I don’t, either,” Alicia agrees. “There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?” Victor asks.

“What are we going to do about Al?”

“We can get her inside,” Victor dismisses. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t think she can walk,” Alicia says.

“I can carry her,” Victor offers.

“Without hurting her?”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he admits.

“Maybe we can fashion a gurney out of something,” Luciana suggests. “She can lie flat, and two of us can carry her in.”

“That could work,” Alicia says.

“So it’s settled, then,” Victor says. “We’re staying the night.”

Alicia nods. “But we should move the van around back. I doubt there’s anyone out here, but just in case.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Victor volunteers. “You and Luci work on creating a gurney. We’ll get Al inside and start tearing the place apart.”

Victor returns to the van while Alicia and Luciana head into the cabin. It’s a nice place. It has the cabin feel to it – wood walls and floors, a fireplace in the center of the living room, cozy furniture.

“I have an idea,” Luciana says.

“Yeah?”

Luciana motions toward the bathroom. “Let’s just take the door off. It’s a flat surface.”

“That should work,” Alicia says. “We just need –”

“There are tools in the basement.”

Alicia grins. “Luci, you’re a genius.”

Luciana smiles. “I know, but it’s nice to hear once in a while.”

Alicia hears Victor pull the van around back, and she heads out the back door to meet him. “We’ve got a plan,” she tells him.

“Don’t expect Al to be cooperative,” Victor says. He slaps the keys of the van into Alicia’s palm. “She doesn’t want to leave the van.”

Alicia sighs. “She doesn’t have a choice. I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	3. Berkeley

“I hate you.”

“Keep hating me,” Alicia replies. Al yells out as the end of the door bangs against the doorframe, and Alicia grunts, struggling to keep her hold on the edges of the door they’re using as a gurney. What at first seemed like a brilliant idea has turned out to be very much the opposite. Al’s body just barely fits on the door, and Alicia had to get stuck with the end that has Al’s head on it. So every time she looks down, she’s staring into the pained expression that hasn’t left Al’s face since they – with great difficulty – first got her onto the door.

“Don’t drop her,” Victor warns from the other end. “Or we’re going to have much bigger problems.”

“I’m trying,” Alicia says through her teeth. Frankly, her muscles are straining, her arms shaking, and if they don’t get through the doorway and into the living room _soon_ , Al’s going to be rolling onto the floor. And Victor’s right. They’re going to have bigger problems if that happens.

“Don’t you fucking drop me,” Al says. Her jaw clenches and unclenches, and sweat’s beginning to bead on her forehead. Her chest heaves, and she grips onto the sides of the door tightly. “If you drop me, I _swear_ –”

“Put her on the kitchen table,” Luciana instructs.

“We’re gonna have to lift her up a bit,” Victor tells Alicia. They maneuver through the living room toward the small kitchen. “Can you do that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Victor laughs. “Not at all.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“On three.”

Victor counts to three, and together, Alicia and Victor heave the door up onto the kitchen table. Alicia’s arms give out, and the door bangs down on the table, jostling Al around and drawing another groan of pain from her.

“Sorry,” Alicia breathes. Her arms tremble, and she exhales shakily.

“Take a moment,” Victor suggests. He claps Alicia on the shoulder. “Luci and I can start going through the supplies.”

“We should eat,” Alicia reminds. “It’s been a while.”

“Oh,” Luciana says, eyebrows pulling together. “Yeah. I guess it has been.”

“I’ll find us something good,” Victor promises. “Make sure we didn’t kill Al.”

“You fuckwits aren’t carrying me back out there,” Al grumbles. “I’ll figure out a way to walk if it kills me.”

“You can’t stay on the table,” Alicia informs. “We have to eat somewhere.”

“Eat on the couch.”

Alicia smirks. “Al. We’re civilized. We don’t eat on the couch.”

“That was funny,” Al says flatly. “You should quit your day job. Become a standup comedian, you know, since they’re in such short supply nowadays.”

“I think you’re the one that should try standup,” Alicia replies. “How do you feel?”

“Quite shitty, actually,” Al answers. “How about you?”

“Could be better,” Alicia admits.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alicia says. “My arms are pretty sore now. You’re really heavy.”

Al cracks a smile but swallows hard and closes her eyes. “Yeah. I guess I need to drop a couple pounds, huh? Can’t go around having any excess weight during the apocalypse. That’d just be unacceptable.”

Alicia hums and moves Al’s still unbuttoned shirt aside. “Doesn’t look like you’re bleeding,” Alicia comments. “Which is good.”

“Yeah,” Al says. Her eyes haven’t reopened. “Just fucking hurts, man.”

“How long has it been since you last took pills?” Alicia asks.

“Too fucking long.”

Alicia checks the time and counts the hours. She shakes her head, although Al can’t see her, and says, “You’ve got another hour to go.”

Al groans and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “At least get me off this door,” Al says.

“That’s the plan,” Alicia says. “We’re going to eat dinner here, so you can’t be taking up all the space, you know?”

“Hey!” Victor calls from the other room. “Stop that weird flirting and start being productive!”

“You haven’t seen weird flirting yet,” Al shouts back. Alicia’s glad Al has a response ready, because her mind goes absolutely blank as her face flushes. Alicia lets her hair shield her face as Al holds her arms out and finally opens her eyes. “Help me up.”

“Take it easy,” Alicia warns. “We’ll go slow. Let’s just get you to the couch first.”

“I’m injured, not stupid,” Al says. She wiggles her fingers. “C’mon. Give me your hands.”

Alicia grasps onto Al’s hands and pulls her into a seated position. Al bites back a cry of pain and exhales heavily once she’s upright. She holds onto Alicia’s hands tightly and doesn’t let go even though she’s up.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Alicia says.

“It’s way too late for that,” Al replies. “Just get me to the couch and I’ll be fine.”

“And hurry up,” Victor chimes in. “This would go a lot faster if we had another set of hands.”

“Ignore him,” Alicia tells Al.

“I am.”

Al slides to the edge of the table. She’s nearly tall enough to reach the ground without much extra effort, but she’ll still have to drop a couple inches. Al doesn’t wait, just going for it before Alicia’s ready, so Alicia’s lucky Al manages to stay on her feet by herself.

“That’s not so bad,” Al breathes. “No, wait, it kind of is.”

Alicia barely manages to get Al’s arm around her neck before Al’s legs start to give out. “Shit,” Alicia hisses. “No, come on, stay up.”

Al regains her balance, but she’s forced to lean into Alicia for support. Alicia takes the first step toward the couch and hopes that Al will follow, sighing in relief when she does. It’s just a few more steps away, and then Alicia’s lowering Al onto the couch, and that problem’s solved. For now. There’s still the question of how they’re going to get her back into the van, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“You good?” Alicia asks. She pushes both her hands through her hair then twists it up into a quick, messy bun. She hasn’t checked if this place has running water yet, but she hopes against all odds that it does. She could really use a shower.

“I’m fine,” Al says. She buttons her shirt up to her neck then flings one of her arms across her eyes. “Wake me when it’s time for more pills.”

“Okay,” Alicia agrees.

“You’re supposed to walk away now,” Al adds. “I won’t be able to sleep if you’re going to hover over me and stare.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “You’re such a jackass.”

Before joining Victor and Luciana, Alicia turns on the tap in the kitchen. It takes a few moments, but water starts to trickle out into the sink. Alicia smiles to herself and shuts the water off, locating Victor and Luciana in the bathroom. They’re combing through the medicine cabinet and the cabinets beneath the sink, sorting items into piles and cracking jokes. Alicia takes a seat on the lid of the toilet seat and easily joins in on the laughter.

“You know, there’s running water,” Alicia tells them during a lull in the conversation.

“Seriously?” Luciana says. “I could cry. I don’t remember the last time I took a real shower.”

“You both are going to have to wait,” Victor says. “Because I’m going first.”

Victor hands over the bag full of supplies and sends Alicia and Luciana into the kitchen while he takes a shower. They pass through the living room, and Al’s fast asleep on her back on the couch, her arm still covering her eyes. Her other arm dangles off the edge of the couch. It’s time for her to take more pills, but Alicia ignores Al’s instructions and refuses to wake her.

Alicia and Luciana tear apart the kitchen while Victor takes the world’s longest shower. There are lots of canned goods to go through, and surprisingly, a good chunk of the cans are long expired. They salvage what they can, and when Victor emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered, Alicia sends Luciana in next.

“Anything good so far?” Victor asks, peering into the pantry.

“Lots of beans,” Alicia says. “And fruit.”

Victor grins. “We’re gonna eat well tonight.”

Al wakes just as Luciana steps out of the bathroom. Alicia hurries to find the bottle of hydrocodone and a water bottle, so at least Al can’t be too mad that she didn’t wake her as soon as it was time. Alicia drops the bottle onto Al’s chest the moment she’s fully conscious and sets the water bottle on the ground within Al’s reach.

“Now you’re just gonna let me have the bottle?” Al questions.

“Yep,” Alicia says over her shoulder. She hesitates in the bathroom doorway. The actual door, since they used it as a makeshift gurney for Al, is still on the kitchen table. But it didn’t bother Victor or Luciana, and Alicia’s dying for an actual shower, even though she knows Al can see straight into the bathroom from her spot on the couch.

“What happened to being worried about me overdosing?” Al asks.

Alicia spins around, unsurprised to see Al lifting her head to stare at her from across the room. Alicia just shrugs. “You’re an adult, aren’t you? If you want to kill yourself because you popped too many pain pills, that’s on you. At least we won’t have to carry your ass back out to the van, right?”

Al’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and she’s too bewildered to respond before Alicia steps into the bathroom and gets the water running. Maybe that was kinda harsh, Alicia thinks, but Al’s been acting like an ass since this morning, so maybe she also deserved it a little. It does occur to Alicia, once she’s under the cold spray of the shower, that if Al were to actually overdose and die, she’d get back up. That thought cuts her shower time down from an intended thirty minutes to closer to ten.

It isn’t until Alicia’s about to step out of the shower that she realizes she only has her gross clothes to get back into. She is _not_ putting gross clothes – stained with Al’s blood and God knows what else – back on when she just finished thoroughly cleaning weeks’ worth of muck off of herself. So Alicia shuts the water off and fumbles around for a towel, wrapping it around her chest. It’s barely long enough to fully cover her ass, but she doesn’t have many options.

“Luci!” Alicia calls. She rushes out of the bathroom toward the kitchen, as if that’s going to make it so Al can’t get eyes on her. “Hey,” Alicia says breathlessly. Water drips off the ends of her hair, and Luciana startles slightly at seeing Alicia _not_ covered in blood and dirt.

“What’s up?” Luciana says.

“Where are our extra clothes?” Alicia asks.

Luciana suppresses a smile. “In the van out back.”

Alicia sighs and tightens her hold on the top of the towel when she feels it beginning to slip. “I can’t run outside! I’m basically naked. What if I’m ambushed?”

“Then you’re gonna have a problem,” Victor pipes up. “I have to carry some of this stuff out to the van anyway. I’ll grab you something, so just sit tight.”

“What are you thinking for dinner?” Luciana asks. “Is beans and fruit salad alright?”

“Sounds great,” Alicia says.

“I’m gonna need help getting this door off the table –”

“As soon as I put clothes on,” Alicia agrees. “I’ll help you.”

Luciana nods then smirks. “You know, we have maps of the area. We should really start going over routes if we’re going to stand any chance at finding June and John –”

“Once I’m dressed,” Alicia blurts, and Luciana busts out laughing.

“You get really anxious when you’re not clothed,” Luciana observes. “That’s new.”

“There are new people around,” Alicia says through her teeth.

“New person,” Al says from the living room behind Alicia. Alicia twists her head around and finds Al still sprawled out in the same spot on the couch. “Not new people,” Al corrects. “It’s just me.”

“Take your pills and shut up,” Alicia replies. Victor returns with an armful of clothing, and Alicia gratefully accepts it and ducks back into the bathroom. Victor chose something comfortable without having to be asked – sweats and a sweatshirt. The sweatshirt’s a light gray, but Alicia pauses when she catches sight in the bathroom mirror of what’s on the front. Written in bold blue letters across the chest is _BERKELEY_.

Alicia’s blood runs cold, but she doubts Victor picked it specifically. She doesn’t even think Victor knows she was supposed to attend Berkeley. She’s not sure he doesn’t know, of course. Maybe her mom told him or something. The unexpected reminder of her old life almost causes Alicia’s legs to give out, and she grasps onto the sink to keep herself upright. She feels like she can barely breathe, and Alicia stares into her bloodshot eyes in the mirror and tries to will the feeling to pass.

“Hey,” Luciana says, popping up in the doorway. Alicia jolts, clutching at her chest and exhaling heavily. Luciana’s eyes widen. “Are you okay?” she asks, reaching for Alicia.

Alicia waves her off and manages to say, “Yeah. Fine. Just scared me.”

“Victor and I set up dinner,” Luciana says. Her eyes search Alicia’s face warily, and Alicia forces a smile and nods. Luciana’s eyes drop to the sweatshirt, but she doesn’t comment on it. Alicia realizes Luciana might know. Nick might’ve said something to her, if they ever talked about their past lives. Alicia has no way to know unless she asks, and she’s definitely not going to do that.

Alicia motions for Luciana to lead the way. Her hands tremble, but she pulls them up into the sleeves of the sweatshirt and crosses her arms over her chest once she steps into the kitchen. A large bowl full of assorted (canned) fruits sits in the center of the table. Victor sets three bowls of beans around the table and claps his hands together.

“There we go,” Victor says, flashing a wide smile.

“What about Al?” Luciana asks.

“Don’t worry,” Victor says. “I’ve thought of everything.” He heads back to the stove, scoops a ladle full of beans into a fourth bowl, sticks a spoon in it, and hands the bowl to Alicia. “Deliver this to our guest, if you will, please,” he says.

Alicia hardly trusts herself to take the bowl without dropping it, but she holds on tightly and hopes it’s enough to keep her hands from shaking. Al opens her eyes when Alicia approaches, and Alicia realizes Al’s not going to be able to eat lying down.

“Dinner,” Alicia says gruffly.

“I’m good.”

“You have to eat,” Alicia says. “I’m not sure you should be taking those pills on an empty stomach.”

Al smiles. “That doesn’t matter,” she dismisses. “I didn’t take anymore.”

“What?” Alicia exclaims. She locates the bottle of hydrocodone, placed on the edge of the coffee table since that’s about as far as Al can reach without straining herself.

“You’re right,” Al says. She holds back a wince. “I shouldn’t risk overdosing.”

“Now you’re just being an idiot,” Alicia says. She sets the bowl of beans on the coffee table and holds her hands out. “Come on. You have to sit up and eat something.”

Al’s eyes land on the sweatshirt, and her lips twitch upward. “Berkeley, huh?” she says. “You sure you’re smart enough for that?”

It’s a joke – a lighthearted one, at that – but all the blood drains out of Alicia’s face. “I would think so,” Alicia hisses, “given that I was accepted.” She picks the bowl of beans up off the coffee table and sets it on Al’s chest. “Sit up yourself.”

“Alicia –” Al calls, but Alicia has already stormed back into the kitchen to join Luciana and Victor at the table. She starts shoveling spoonful after spoonful of beans into her mouth, because, first of all, they’re warm, and second of all, Alicia’s starving. She hopes some of her shakiness will go away once her stomach’s full.

“We need a real plan,” Luciana says, pushing her empty bowl aside. “We have to map out our route.”

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” Victor says. “We have time.”

Luciana shakes her head. “If we knew John and June a little better, we could try to predict where they’d go.”

Alicia freezes. “You know who knows them better than us?”

Victor and Luciana both stare at Alicia blankly.

“Al,” Alicia says. “I bet you she interviewed at least one of them.”

Victor smiles. “I’ll go through the tapes when I take the next bag of supplies out to the van.”

“Did I hear something about tapes?” Al shouts. Alicia glances back at her. The bowl of beans is back on the coffee table, and Al hasn’t moved otherwise.

“No,” Alicia answers. “Not at all. Mind your own conversation, please.”

“Funny,” Al sneers.

“Go easy on her,” Luciana says quietly. “She’s in pain.”

“Then you handle her,” Alicia says. “Because she’s a pain in my ass.”

“You know what you’re doing,” Victor reminds. “Better than me or Luci, at least.”

“But _she’s in pain_ is a terrible excuse,” Alicia argues. “I gave her the pills. If she’s refusing to take them, that’s on her.” When Luciana and Victor don’t have a response, Alicia changes gears. “Maybe we shouldn’t kill June,” Alicia says quietly enough to keep Al out of the loop. “Maybe we should dump Al on her and take off with the van.”

“Or we could dump Al on John, kill June, and take the van,” Victor says, stroking his chin.

“What’s stopping John from killing us?” Luciana asks.

“His morals, probably,” Victor laughs. Alicia cracks a smile and goes for the fruit salad. It’s strange, eating a meal with _silverware_ at a table with a roof over their head. And the three of them are actually clean for the first time in ages. Alicia falls out of the conversation between Luciana and Victor as she pokes at the canned fruit in her bowl. They’re both done eating before her and start cleaning up while she’s still forcing herself to finish off the fruit. Victor goes to carry the remaining supplies into the van while Alicia’s stacking dishes in the sink.

“Are you going to wash those?” Luciana asks.

“I guess I should,” Alicia says. “Right?”

Luciana shrugs. “I don’t know if it matters too much.”

Alicia kind of likes have a mindless task to complete, even though she used to _hate_ doing the dishes. She wishes she wouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it when she was younger. It could’ve been so much worse. Luciana dries the dishes as Alicia washes them, and just as they’re returning the dishes to the cabinets, Victor steps back inside.

“So?” Luciana says.

“I watched it,” Victor confirms. He shakes his head, grinning. “That man’s not going to kill us.”

“It’s June we have to watch out for,” Alicia agrees.

“But I bet you he’s deciding where they go,” Victor says. “Where are the maps?”

“You guys decide the best course of action,” Alicia says. “I’m gonna look around a little more.”

“The master bedroom is mine tonight,” Victor says. “So don’t get any ideas.”

Alicia waves him off and goes straight to the master bedroom. Alicia’s eyes go to the bedside table first because of the lamp. The body is a bear, and the lampshade has little bears all around it. She smiles to herself and starts pulling drawers open, but as she expects, she only finds clothes. Men’s clothes only. She checks the bedside table next and pauses. There are a couple items in the drawer, and Alicia goes first for the one she intends to keep. The handle of the switchblade is simplistic, but the blade that shoots out of the handle is made of some sleek, black metal.

Alicia pockets the knife and grabs the wallet next. She probably shouldn’t bother with this sort of thing, but she digs until she pulls out a driver’s license. She’d been expecting a Texas driver’s license, but this one’s from California. The man in the picture has a full beard and soft features. He’s thirty-eight if he’s still alive, and he has an address in San Diego. He’s an organ donor. The last thing Alicia looks at is his name. Brody York.

Alicia sighs and jams the ID back into the wallet. It’s full of cash, and Brody York has probably a dozen credit cards. Not that any of that matters now. Alicia tosses the wallet back into the drawer and pushes it shut. Alicia feels the need to see if Brody York’s got anything hidden under his bed, and she lowers herself to the ground and peers underneath it. Oh, Victor’s going to be so pissed that he wasn’t the one to find this. Alicia pulls three different gun bags out from beneath the bed and sits back.

The first holds two Beretta handguns and has six fully loaded magazines slotted into the side. The second’s a hunting rifle of some sort, and the third’s a pump-action shotgun. Alicia starts laughing.

“Victor!” she shouts. “You’re never gonna believe this!”

Victor rushes into the room, eyebrows raise, and his eyes fall on the guns surrounding Alicia on the floor. “Why do you always find all the good stuff?” he grumbles.

“You think there’s more somewhere?” Alicia asks. “There’s a basement, right? He’s got to have more ammo around here.”

“Now we really need to rip this place apart,” Victor agrees. “We need to go over that basement one more time.”

“Thank you, Brody York,” Alicia murmurs once Victor leaves the room. She zips the handgun bag shut and takes it for herself, dragging the rifle and shotgun to the kitchen. “Take your pick,” Alicia tells Luciana.

“That rifle’s useless compared to what we already have,” Luciana says. “Let Victor have it.”

Alicia grins as Luciana claims the shotgun. “Nice choice,” she says.

Luciana smiles in return and jerks her head toward the basement door. “He’s down there tearing it apart looking for bullets.”

“We’re gonna be set for _weeks_ ,” Alicia says. “We’ve got food, water, guns…” Alicia shakes her head. “Jesus, we’ve never been this lucky.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Luciana warns.

“Right,” Alicia laughs. “Next thing you know, we find June and get ourselves shot dead.”

Luciana joins in on Alicia’s laughter then replies, “June’s a terrible shot. And Victor doesn’t think John will shoot us.”

“You should’ve stopped that sentence with _Victor doesn’t think_ ,” Alicia snorts. “John will shoot us to protect June.”

“Is that a bet?”

“You wanna make it one?” Alicia challenges.

“If you guys are done,” Al interrupts. She grunts as she pushes herself onto her elbows. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Then go,” Alicia says.

Al blinks. “I can’t walk by myself.”

“Well, tough shit,” Alicia replies, but she’s already walking over to the couch. At some point, Al actually ate dinner, but Alicia keeps her smartass comments to herself and offers Al a hand. Alicia also holds back on telling Al to just take the damn pills. If she wants to be in pain, that’s her problem. Al grasps onto Alicia’s shoulder, and Alicia makes sure she gets into the bathroom without hitting the floor.

“Jackpot!” Victor yells up the basement stairs. Alicia hears his boots thudding on the steps. “I don’t know who lived here,” Victor says breathlessly, “but _damn_ , it’s like he knew the apocalypse was on its way.”

“What’d you find?” Luciana asks.

“Bullets,” Victor says. “Knives. Grenades. You name it, and it’s probably there.”

“What do you think this guy did?” Alicia asks. She leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, keeping her back to the actual open doorway, and watches as Victor shrugs.

“Maybe he’s military,” Luciana guesses.

“Or a goddamn assassin,” Victor says. “But who cares? He’s gone.”

“And thanks to that, we’ll live to see another few weeks, at least,” Luciana says.

“Few weeks?” Victor says. “Try a few months. If we’re smart, maybe we’ll even have a year before we need to seriously restock. It’s like a gift from God.”

“You guys are pretty overdramatic,” Alicia says.

“Hey, it’s the little things in life that make me happy,” Victor says with a wide smile. “We’re packed, and I’m ready to sleep in a bed tonight. I’ll see you ladies in the morning.”

“Hey!” Al calls. “I’m done in here.”

“I got her,” Luciana volunteers. “You can take the guest bedroom,” she adds. “You look like you could use the sleep.”

Alicia shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“So you’re going to keep an eye on this one?” Luciana asks as she hauls Al back to the couch.

“I’m the only one who can take care of her wounds, so I guess,” Alicia mutters.

“Well, come get me if you get tired,” Luciana says.

Al groans as Luciana lowers her back onto the couch. “You’re gonna leave me out here with Miss Berkeley?”

“Yes,” Alicia answers for Luciana. She claps Luciana on the shoulder and says, “Get some rest. I’ll call you if I need something.”

Luciana nods, glancing between Al and Alicia. “Don’t kill each other, please,” she says.

“No promises,” they say in unison. Alicia makes a face. Luciana disappears down the hall into the guest bedroom, and Alicia double checks that all the doors and windows are locked. Really that’s all she needed to do, but she doesn’t want to go sit in the living room with just Al for company. Alicia quickly runs out of reasons why she hasn’t settled in yet, so she trudges to the living room and drops into the armchair across from the couch. She pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them.

“Is there a blanket in here? It’s getting kind of cold,” Al complains.

“I don’t know,” Alicia replies. “Go find one.”

Al rolls her eyes. “You shot me.”

“You’re going to milk that one forever, huh?” Alicia says. “I just got comfortable.”

Alicia still finds herself getting to her feet in search of a blanket. She finds one in the hall closet, stacked amongst sheets and, oddly enough, books. She tosses it onto Al’s lap and turns her attention to the fireplace. She bets she can get a fire going, especially because she knows she spotted matches around here somewhere. She finds them in a drawer in the kitchen and manages to start a fire. She smiles to herself and drops the matchbook onto the coffee table.

“You shouldn’t be cold now,” Alicia says.

“Aren’t you thoughtful?”

“If that’s the word you want to use,” Alicia says. “When’s the last time you changed those bandages?”

“Luciana did it earlier,” Al answers. “While you were pulling guns out of the master bedroom.”

Alicia hums. “Are they infected yet?”

Al huffs. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No.”

Al’s eyebrows raise, and she stares across the coffee table at Alicia, curled up in the armchair once more. “Really?”

“Really,” Alicia says. “You may be acting like an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

Al pauses. “So maybe I’ve been a little…standoffish.”

“And mean,” Alicia adds.

“And mean,” Al concedes. “Not that you’ve been much better. But we’re both having a rough time, so maybe we can just put it all behind us, yeah?”

“Fine,” Alicia agrees. “It’s all behind us. Now what?”

Al grins and pulls the blanket up to her neck. “Now you get to sit up while everyone else sleeps. Enjoy that.”

Alicia laughs in surprise. “Oh, so I stayed up with you last night, but you can’t return the favor?”

“I need to heal,” Al says, but there’s still a smile on her face.

“You’ve been sleeping all day!”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Al scoffs. “I can’t walk, and it’s not like you guys are very entertaining.”

“Sorry.”

“And I missed out on taking an actual shower because you shot me,” Al whines.

“I’m sorry. Geez,” Alicia says. Al makes a small grunting sound and closes her eyes, but Alicia can tell she isn’t sleeping because her body’s too stiff. “Take the pills,” Alicia finally says. “They’ll help.”

“Don’t need them.”

“Is it because of what I said earlier?” Alicia questions. “Because if we have to haul your ass back to the van in the morning, that’s fine. We’ll do it.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It makes my head foggy,” Al says. “And since you’re all so willing to kill John Dorie, I think it’s best if I don’t cloud my judgment more than I have to.”

“I told you, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Al’s eyes open, and she turns her head to stare unabashedly across the room at Alicia. “And why should I believe you?”

Alicia hesitates. She gives a small shrug. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

“Exactly.”

Silence. Alicia stares off absently toward the kitchen, and Al stares at Alicia. It’s eerily quiet, except for Victor’s snoring that can be heard through the closed bedroom door, and the crackling of the fire. But other than that, it’s kind of creepy being in a house that’s so quiet.

“You should let me interview you,” Al says, startling Alicia out of her trance.

Alicia recovers and manages to ask, “Why? What does that matter?”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Al says softly. Alicia’s eyes return to Al’s face, and Al musters up a crooked grin. “You know, I get people’s stories, and usually I send them off with food or offer them a ride or something.”

“And what do you have to offer me?” Alicia asks. “Or do I just owe you because I accidentally shot you?”

“You’re keeping my ass alive, so consider that debt paid,” Al dismisses. “I don’t know what I have to offer to you, Alicia Clark.”

Alicia smiles wryly. “Friendship?”

Al laughs. “See, I knew that bothered you.”

“What did?”

“When I said we weren’t friends,” Al explains. “When I said I’d be out of your life the moment I healed.”

Alicia’s face falls. “I don’t…care.”

“Look at you, trying to lie,” Al teases. “You kissed me because I was in pain. You care.”

“I’d care more if you didn’t turn into such an asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

Alicia just nods. Her gaze returns to the kitchen, even though Al’s eyes refuse to leave her face. “There’s no reason to interview me,” Alicia says.

“Why not?” Al presses. “You seem pretty interesting. I mean, you got accepted into Berkeley.”

“So? That was a long time ago. Berkeley’s gone with the rest of California.”

“There’s a lot more I don’t know about you,” Al says quietly.

Alicia exhales forcefully and rubs at the back of her neck. “What more do you need to know? You already know my name, where I’m from, what I’ve done and what I’ve seen.”

“Those questions are intentionally vague, you know,” Al replies. “There’s lots of wiggle room. Lots of answers.”

“I killed a kid,” Alicia snaps. “And I’ve been planning another murder or two with the last two people I care about on this planet. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

“You’re using my van – and possibly me – in that plan,” Al reminds. “So no, it’s not good enough.” Al winces, pressing her hands against her stomach as she shifts herself onto her side facing Alicia. “There’s no camera,” Al points out. “Anything you say –”

“Will be remembered by you,” Alicia finishes.

“We can just talk,” Al offers. “You don’t have to tell me your entire life story.”

“Then what am I gonna tell you?”

“I don’t know. Your favorite baseball team?” Al jokes.

Alicia smiles, but it fades quickly. “I’m not really that into baseball anymore,” she murmurs.

“Right. Sorry.”

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What about you?” Alicia repeats. “What’s your favorite baseball team?”

Al grins and runs her hand through her hair. “I’m not really into baseball, either.”

“Then what are you into?”

Al thinks for a moment. “I like bull riding.”

Alicia laughs, loud, and she stifles the sound with her hand. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“You’ll never know.”

They both smile, and Alicia shakes her head. “It’s not fair,” Alicia says.

“What isn’t?”

“You know more about me than I know about you. I don’t even know your last name, but you know I murdered a kid and would’ve attended Berkeley if the world hadn’t gone to shit.”

“That’s what you should tell people when you first meet them,” Al says. “ _Hi, I’m Alicia Clark, and I kill kids and would’ve gone to Berkeley_.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You’re right. I couldn’t get my voice high enough to properly mimic you. But cut me some slack, okay? I know you shot me yesterday, and that was a long time ago, but I’m still in some pain.”

“Just tell me something,” Alicia requests. “ _Anything_ that no one else left in this world knows about you.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” Alicia urges. “I don’t even care if it’s something small. Like…you must’ve gone to college, right? Where’d you go?”

Al exhales heavily. “That was a long time ago.”

“So what? Would you rather tell me who the first person you killed was?”

Al stares down at the floor. That’s what Alicia thought. Alicia drops her feet to the floor, and she’s about to tell Al to just go to sleep then, if she’s not going to talk.

“I killed someone long before the world went to shit.”

Alicia tenses. “What? I thought you were a journalist.”

“I am.”

“Then why’d you – why’d you kill someone?”

Al inhales sharply and pushes her hair back from her face. “To save myself,” she answers. “The world may be total shit now, but it’s not like it was an amazing place before the dead started walking.”

“Yeah,” Alicia says. “But it was self-defense.”

Al squints at Alicia for a moment. “No,” she says. “It was kill or be killed.”

“And you chose to kill.”

“I’m still alive, right?” Al quips. “Because if this is what death is like, man, I want out.”

Alicia smiles, but it’s sort of pained. “How did you – I mean, why would you have to –”

“I think that’s enough from me,” Al interrupts gently. “For one night.”

Alicia purses her lips and shakes her head. “Tell me one more thing. Not about – _that_. Something else.”

Al sighs and rubs at her eyes but gestures in a way that Alicia assumes is permission to ask the next question.

“Why’d you tell me to kiss you?”

Al busts out laughing, but it quickly turns into a grimace as Al clutches onto her stomach. “I mean, why do most people tell someone to kiss them?” Al counters.

“So you didn’t say it because you were on drugs or to mess with me or to be an asshole?”

“That’s what you think of me?” Al says. “I’m hurt.”

“Enough with the sarcasm, please,” Alicia groans. “Just – give it to me straight.”

“Straight?”

“No bullshit,” Alicia growls. “Give me an honest answer. Please.”

Al smiles lopsidedly. “Because I wanted to. Why else?”

“You…wanted to?”

“Is that causing your brain to short circuit?” Al laughs. “There aren’t many hot, age-appropriate women left. You gotta jump when you get the chance, you know?”

Before Alicia thinks of a response, Al’s expression changes drastically. Her smile’s gone, replaced with a troubled, borderline panicked look. Alicia sits up straighter, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

“What?” Alicia questions.

“Those are headlights,” Al mutters, pointing toward the front window, behind Alicia’s armchair. Alicia twists around to where Al’s pointing, and her eyes widen. Sure enough, there’s a car barreling down the road toward the cabin.

“Shit,” Alicia hisses. “Oh, _shit_.”

Alicia scrambles to her feet but pauses when she’s halfway across the room. She goes for the gun bag and pulls the two Berettas free. She quickly checks that they’re both loaded, jams one into her waistband, and rushes to Al’s side.

“Take this,” Alicia commands, pressing the handgun into Al’s palm. “Shoot first, ask questions later, okay?”

Al’s not given a chance to respond. She can’t even sit up properly, for Christ’s sake. How is she going to shoot whoever’s coming? But Alicia’s gone, running off to wake Victor and Luciana. And the front door’s about to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	4. York

Al would recognize that face anywhere. She swallows hard and lowers the Beretta at the same time that the burly, dark haired man lowers his rifle. Al’s eyebrows pull together, and she shoves herself up into a seated position even though her abdomen sends stabbing pains up her spine. She flings the blanket aside, eyes searching the man’s bearded face. He’s as stunned as she is, and Al vaguely hopes Alicia, Victor, and Luciana don’t come out here shooting.

“Brody?” Al finally says.

“Al?” he says. His voice is naturally gravelly, a low rumble in his throat.

Al tips her head forward. “It’s been a while, huh?” she says, because she doesn’t know what else she should say. She keeps the Beretta in her grasp, though the safety’s on.

“What are you doing here?” Brody demands, slamming the rifle down onto the kitchen table. The front door bangs shut behind him, and he glares at the kitchen. He can tell something’s off.

“I can explain it all,” Al promises. “But first, I have to –”

“You aren’t here alone,” Brody guesses.

“No. And I’m afraid they might come out here shooting if you don’t give me a chance to –”

“Forget that,” Brody dismisses. He picks the rifle back up. “Get down.”

“I can’t,” Al says. She holds her hand out, hoping it’ll stop him from advancing toward the back of the cabin. “I was shot. I have to –”

“Get down,” Brody repeats.

“Jesus Christ,” Al hisses. “Alicia!” she shouts, even though it brings Brody’s attention – and his rifle – to her. “Don’t shoot!”

“You know you’re trespassing, right?” Brody says. “I’m within my rights to shoot you.”

“Whatever, man,” Al sneers. “If you were gonna shoot me, you would’ve done it. But just in case, aim for my head, yeah?”

Brody hesitates, and Al realizes in horror that maybe she’s made the wrong decision. Victor creeps around the corner, Brody’s own hunting rifle raised. Victor brings the butt of the rifle down on the back of Brody’s head, _hard_. Brody’s a big guy – something like 6’6” – but he crumples to the floor, his rifle falling from his hands. Victor kicks it aside, and Luciana and Alicia emerge from the back hall, both carrying guns of their own.

“Nice job distracting him,” Victor tells Al. He motions to Luciana and Alicia. “Let’s get him tied up. There’s duct tape in the kitchen.”

“Wait,” Al says. She winces when she moves too quickly to set the Beretta on the coffee table, but Alicia and Luciana are already working on getting Brody’s unconscious form propped onto one of the kitchen table’s chairs. “Don’t hurt him,” Al insists. “I know him.”

Alicia pauses. “You know him?”

“I met him,” Al says, shaking her head, “a while back. Interviewed him. I have his tape in the van. He’s – I mean, he’s a nice guy.”

“You heard him,” Victor says. “We’re trespassing, and he’s willing to shoot us.”

“To be fair, we _are_ trespassing,” Al says. She watches Victor retrieve the duct tape and pass it to Luciana. They tape Brody’s arms behind the chair and tape both his legs to the chair’s legs.

“Did you call him _Brody_?” Alicia asks.

“Yeah?” Al says. She braces her arm against the back of the couch to keep herself from dropping back, grimacing as the wounds in her stomach strain.

“I found his ID in the bedroom,” Alicia informs. “So he lives here?”

“I guess so,” Al says. “He’s right there, isn’t he?”

“I thought you guys said this place looked abandoned,” Alicia says, turning her attention on Luciana and Victor.

“It did,” Luciana defends. “It looked like nothing had been touched.”

“I’ll search his car,” Victor volunteers. “Watch him, in case he regains consciousness and tries anything.”

“He’s duct taped to a chair,” Al points out. “What’s he gonna do?”

Alicia checks that Brody’s tape bindings are secure then crosses over into the living room. She snatches the Beretta off the coffee table and places it in Al’s lap. Al’s eyes locate the second one, still jammed into Alicia’s waistband, as Alicia lowers herself onto the coffee table across from Al.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about him,” Alicia says quietly. “Please.”

Al’s jaw hangs open for a moment. “Why don’t you just go get his tape and find out yourself?”

“I need the abridged version, and you’re a decent judge of character.”

“I already said he’s a nice guy,” Al says. “What more do you want to know?”

“What’s he been doing out here?” Alicia asks. “What did he do in his old life? What’s he like?” When Al doesn’t immediately start giving out information, Alicia sighs, “His license is from California. He has a San Diego residence. Why is he here?”

“He must’ve had two houses, then,” Al says. “I don’t know. Or maybe he claimed this place after the shit hit the fan. When I asked him where he was from, he said San Diego.”

Alicia nods. “What’s he do?”

Al has to think for a moment. “He was a crab fisherman,” she says. “He was out on the ocean when everything started going down, but his crew returned to land and –” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Look, he didn’t tell me everything. Just that California was gone, and he fled here. He was looking for somewhere quiet.”

Alicia nods. An emotion Al can’t quite identify swirls in Alicia’s eyes. Alicia chews on her lower lip and stares over at Brody. Luciana stands guard over him, shotgun in her hands, and she startles as Victor reenters the cabin.

“Gasoline,” Victor says. “His car’s loaded with gasoline. He must’ve gone out before we found this place, and we just happened to choose the one spot that’s _not_ totally abandoned.”

“So now what?” Luciana asks.

“We can go,” Al answers before Alicia can speak. “The van’s already loaded, right? Cut his hands loose, and we’ll take off. Nothing bad has to happen.”

“Victor,” Alicia says. Her eyes don’t leave Al’s face, and Al scowls back at her while Victor rubs his jaw and thinks.

“What if he follows us?” Victor says. “We have a lot of his shit.”

“And it’s the middle of the night,” Luciana pipes up. “We barely know where we are or where we’re going.”

“Seriously?” Al says. “Guys, come on. We can just go and leave him here. We’ll be fine, and he’ll – well, he’ll be missing a lot of supplies, but he’ll live.”

“What if he knows something about John?” Luciana asks. “If he’s been living here, he knows the area. Maybe he can help us.”

“Because that’s what he’s going to want to do when he wakes up,” Al says in disbelief. “He’ll want to help the people that tied him up. Right. Seems logical.”

“He’ll have no choice,” Victor snaps. “We have the upper hand.”

“This is insane,” Al argues. She looks desperately to Alicia. “Is this what you guys do?”

“What?” Alicia says. “Survive? Yeah. That’s exactly what we do.”

“You go through anyone you have to, don’t you?” Al questions. “Anyone that gets in your way just…what? Gets gunned down?”

Alicia flinches, ever so slightly, and her eyes drop down toward Al’s stomach. Al raises her eyebrows and waits for Alicia to say something, but she merely stands from the coffee table and joins Victor and Luciana in the kitchen.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Alicia says. “To wait until he wakes up and see if he knows anything about John.”

“He lost everyone,” Al blurts. Alicia’s body tenses, but she keeps her back to Al while Victor and Luciana stare blankly at her. “He saw firsthand how California was – was just wiped out. His entire family – his wife and his kids – had been in San Diego. He told me every day was a struggle, and every day, he had to force himself to get up. But he’s still here. He’s alive. And he hasn’t done anything wrong –”

“There’s no reason for you to beg for his life for him,” Victor interrupts. “We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“We’re just going to talk,” Luciana assures her. The last time they just wanted to _talk_ , Al got shot, and Charlie and almost every last Vulture was killed.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe that’s true,” Al says quietly.

“Just relax,” Alicia orders. She finally turns back around and meets Al’s gaze. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Alicia says softly. “Please, just – let me handle this, okay?”

“Think about what you’re doing,” Al urges. “And why you’re doing it. Please. He’s not a bad person.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Alicia says. Her tone of voice is not to be argued with, and neither Victor nor Luciana speaks up. Al’s words die in her throat, and for half a second, she’s almost _afraid_ of Alicia. Which is totally ridiculous. Alicia weighs, like, a hundred pounds and has a super adorable face. When it isn’t splattered with blood.

But Alicia killed a kid in cold blood and shot Al in her attempt to exact revenge on June. So maybe Al’s quick flash of fear isn’t misplaced. Alicia can more than hold her own. She can lead, and people are willing to listen.

Al’s abdomen is really starting to hurt. It hurt before – it hasn’t stopped hurting since she first took that fucking bullet, even though she had the pills to help dull the pain – but now, it’s really kicking up a notch. Al clenches her jaw and shifts herself back so her back’s against the couch’s armrest. Her eyes flick to the bottle of hydrocodone on the coffee table, and she leans over and grabs it, tucking it carefully into her shirt pocket.

She’d told Alicia they make her head feel foggy, but really they give her a false sense of security, make her feel carefree, like there’s nothing to worry about. Al can’t afford that, especially not now, so she’ll have to take the pain. While Alicia, Victor, and Luciana all have their attention on the unconscious Brody York, Al rapidly unbuttons her shirt and looks down at her stomach. Despite the mounting pain, there’s no blood soaked through the bandage. She can’t be sure about her back, but her front’s her main concern. She’s already busted through the stitches once.

It doesn’t take long for Brody to begin regaining consciousness. He grunts and strains against the duct tape bindings. His biceps are probably the size of Alicia’s head – well, not really, but they’re huge regardless. Al’s almost surprised he doesn’t free himself through sheer brute force.

“Stop,” Alicia commands smoothly. She pulls the Beretta from her waistband and aims the barrel at the center of Brody’s forehead. “Don’t fight it,” she tells him. “We won’t hurt you as long as you give us what we want.”

“And what do you want?” Brody snarls.

“Information,” Alicia says calmly. “We think you might know something.”

“Is that why you’ve taken over my house?”

“No, that was just a happy accident,” Victor says. He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. “How long have you been here?”

“Years,” Brody spits. “And now you assholes come stomping through my home.” He struggles against the tape even with a gun to his head, and Alicia just sighs. “Al, what the fuck is going on?”

“She doesn’t answer to you,” Alicia says.

Brody ignores her. “Al, you said you were shot. Did they – was it one of them?”

Alicia’s eyes lock with Luciana’s, and Alicia nods. Luciana whacks him in the back of the head with the butt of the shotgun. Not hard enough to knock him back out, but hard enough to hurt. He cries out, lowering his head toward his chest, and Alicia waits for him to look back up.

“What did I say?” Alicia says. “She doesn’t answer to you.”

“Brody, please,” Al winces. “Just listen to her.”

“Why are you with these people?” Brody demands.

“It’s a long story,” Al answers. “Please, listen to Alicia.”

“You know the area well, then?” Alicia asks.

Brody’s eyes go from Alicia’s face past her, to where Al’s seated on the couch. She leans heavily back against the armrest, legs stretched across the couch. Al presses one hand to her stomach above the entrance wound, gritting her teeth and suppressing noises of pain. She’s not even looking at Brody.

“She needs your help,” Brody says once his eyes return to Alicia’s face. “She’s in pain.”

“She’s been in pain,” Victor replies. “She’ll live.”

“There’s no reason to point a gun at me,” Brody hisses. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s my call,” Alicia says. She doesn’t lower the Beretta. “Does anyone else live in this area? Are there any other houses like this nearby?”

Brody’s eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“You heard her,” Victor says, slamming his fists down onto the kitchen table. “Now answer the question.”

“It’s just me,” Brody exclaims. “As – as far as I know, okay? It’s just me. The nearest town’s a few miles away, and I drive in for supplies from time to time. There’s not a lot left, so sometimes, I have to take farther trips, like the one I just got back from. But I – I’ve never seen anyone around here, except for people that sometimes pass through. But there aren’t a lot, I swear.”

“Has anyone passed through recently?” Alicia asks.

Brody stutters. He looks to Al for help, and Al stares back at him helplessly. She’d do something if she could, but she’s barely keeping herself seated – and conscious. The pain’s making her a little woozy.

“Has _anyone_ ,” Alicia shouts, startling Brody, “passed through here _recently_?”

“I – I – when I was driving back – I had to pass through town. The – there’s a pharmacy, but I cleaned it out when I first set up here, right? Well, the place has been shut up since, but when I drove back in just, what? Twenty minutes ago? The front door was open. Like someone had been in and didn’t close it behind them. And I remember – I remember because it seemed weird, but maybe it was you guys. I don’t know.”

Alicia’s jaw clenches. She lowers the Beretta. “They’re here,” she spits.

“We need to move,” Victor agrees.

“What about Al?” Luciana questions. “We can’t just leave the two of them here, can we?”

Alicia shakes her head. “Al comes with us.”

“And what about him?” Victor asks.

Alicia pauses, just a moment. “I haven’t decided yet,” she says. “Let’s get Al in the van first and worry about him after.”

“Or we can wait here,” Al suggests. “He’s tied to a chair, and I can’t move anyway.”

“We’ll miss them if we don’t do something soon,” Victor points out.

Conflicting emotions dance across Alicia’s face. “Let’s just go,” she blurts. “Sweep the town and the surrounding area. We’ll be back before morning, and Al won’t try anything while we have her van and her tapes.”

Shit. Al hadn’t even thought of her tapes. But their absence will buy Brody some time while Al comes up with a plan. “Exactly,” Al agrees. “And I’m not in great shape right now, anyway.”

“We’ll deal with that when we get back,” Alicia promises. “Just stay put. Don’t do anything stupid, Al.”

“Oh, you know I won’t, sweetheart,” Al replies. She winks at Alicia, just to see her face flush, and Alicia leads Victor and Luciana out to the back. Al hears her van’s engine roar to life, watches it speed down the road in the direction Brody had come from.

“Jesus, Al,” Brody breathes. “What are we gonna do?”

“Stay put,” Al answers. She swings her legs off the couch, yelling in pain as she plants her boots on the floor. She can’t stand. There’s no way. Her insides feel like they’re being torn apart. Is the pain supposed to get worse as time goes on? Al hasn’t been shot before – she’s been shot _at_ , but the bullet never actually hit her.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Brody says. “I bet I can – I bet I can get myself free.”

He strains against the duct tape as Al focuses on breathing and hopes it’ll lessen the pain.

“What’s up with them anyway?” Brody grunts. “Who are they after?”

“This woman that – she was part of a group that destroyed Alicia’s community,” Al says quickly. “It’s something convoluted and honestly, it’s not worth your time. This woman’s the last living member of the group, and they want her dead. She’s with her boyfriend. It’s a whole, messy thing.”

“Everything you get tied up in is a whole messy thing,” Brody replies.

“Unfortunately,” Al says sourly. “I’m finally paying the price for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“They haven’t killed you,” Brody points out. “And you never told me who shot you.”

“Alicia,” Al answers. “It was an accident. She was aiming for someone else, and she missed.”

“So they’re dragging you along?”

“She feels bad about shooting me or something,” Al says. She keeps clutching at her stomach, careful to avoid touching the actual wound. “She’s really not that bad,” Al says, glancing over at the doubtful look on Brody’s face.

“What are we gonna do?” Brody asks. He’s still working on getting his hands freed. “We have a few hours at the most to come up with something.”

Al hesitates. “Brody, I can’t –”

“I know,” he cuts in. “You’re hurt. But I can take care of this.”

“That’s not –”

“You’ll get your tapes back.”

“I know,” Al says. “But that’s not why – look, I’m stuck with them. And it’s fine, really. I just – I want to get out of here, okay? And I don’t want them to hurt you before we do that.”

Brody falls silent. Mostly he looks confused, but there’s a hint of something else in his expression. “You mean…you’re going with them?”

“Yes,” Al says.

“You want to?”

Al exhales heavily. “I don’t have much of a choice. They need my van, _I_ need my van, and I need someone that knows how to deal with this.” She waves her hand over her stomach. “And that’s Alicia.”

“I can help you,” Brody insists. “You can stay here, and they can go –”

“Not with my van.”

“I have a spare truck,” Brody dismisses. “They can have it. I don’t care. But I can take care of you, and they can leave.”

Al shakes her head. “No. That’s not going to work.”

“Why not?”

“I need to stay with Alicia.”

Brody laughs in surprise. “What?”

“I just – don’t question it, okay? When they get back, I’m going with them, and I’m going to convince them to let you go. Believe me, the last thing I want them to do is waltz back in here and blow your brains against the wall.”

“Thanks?”

Al nods and presses her index finger and thumb against her eyes while she thinks. The pain’s making it hard to have coherent thoughts, and all this talking isn’t helping. “Just follow my lead, okay?” Al says.

“I think I can free myself.”

“Maybe don’t,” Al suggests.

“Can you control them?”

Al laughs breathlessly. “No. Not at all.”

“Then I’m going to keep trying,” Brody says. “Besides, once they find those people that they’re searching for – once those people are dead – what are they going to do? What’s Alicia going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Al admits. “Relax? Have a fucking picnic in a park somewhere? We haven’t really gotten that far yet.”

“Do you think they’ll keep you around?”

Al hesitates. “You know, that’s a great question, Brody, but let me get back to you on it, okay? My first concern is making sure you walk away from this unharmed.”

“If I can get free,” Brody says, “they’ll be sitting ducks when they first pull up. All I have to do is fire from the front window.”

Al’s blood runs cold. She’s not entirely sure why, but she swallows hard and says, “I really think that’s a bad idea, Brody.”

“Why?”

“You’re underestimating them. I’ve seen what they can do.”

Brody stops struggling for a moment and stares over at Al. “What else have I got to lose?” he asks softly. “This place is all I’ve got left. And if I can help you while I try to defend it, well, that’s just a bonus. You helped me once. Let me help you.”

“Brody, please –”

Finally, he yanks his hands free of the chair. He shouts in triumph and rips the tape from his wrists, flinging it aside and leaning forward to pull the tape from around his ankles. He stands, rubbing at his wrists, then pushes his hand through his hair. When Al had first met him, he’d had his head shaved, but now, it’s sort of long, parting itself in the middle. The red flannel shirt he’s wearing kind of makes him look like a lumberjack.

“What’d they take?” Brody asks, rushing to Al’s side.

Al waves him off. The more she moves, the worse the pain gets. The bottle of hydrocodone in her pocket is starting to feel like it weighs a thousand pounds. There’s a small part of her brain screaming that she needs the pills, but she pushes that voice aside for the time being. She needs to be fully aware of her surroundings, _that’s_ what she needs.

“Everything they could,” Al answers.

“They left my rifle, though,” Brody mutters. He grabs the rifle from the table, and Al realizes it’s a bolt-action rifle. Not quite the semiautomatic he’d need to take on Alicia, Luciana, and Victor. “Shit,” he hisses. “I’ve only got four bullets. I’m guessing –”

“They found the guns and ammo, and it’s in the van.”

Brody nods, but then his eyes fall on the Beretta Alicia had left with Al. “Is that loaded?” he asks.

“Why would I have an unloaded gun?”

Brody shakes his head, grinning. “You’re a fun one, Al, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Al sneers. She slaps the Beretta into Brody’s palm. “I really appreciate it. Good luck with that thing.”

“What?”

“They’ve been in plenty of firefights,” Al warns. “With a lot more than just one person. Do me a favor? Haul my ass somewhere else.”

Brody slings the bolt-action rifle over his shoulder and shoves the Beretta in the back of his waistband. “That I can do,” he says. He pauses. “It’s gonna hurt.”

“You know what’s gonna hurt more? Taking another bullet. Come on!”

Brody nods and lifts Al off the couch, getting one arm under her legs. She loops her arm around his neck, crying out in pain, and Brody grunts out apologies as he hurries to carry her into the master bedroom. Brody lowers Al onto the bed, and Al rolls onto her side, curling up even though it doesn’t help the pain.

“Your friends didn’t think this one through,” Brody says. He shuts the bedroom door and pulls the shades on the one window, as if it matters.

“My friends weighed the risks and determined the odds were in their favor,” Al replies through her teeth. “Jesus, _fuck_! Sorry. And technically, they aren’t my friends. We’re just –”

“You’re just what?” Brody teases.

“Traveling together.”

“Right,” Brody snorts. “I know I didn’t know you very long, but I’m not an idiot. Alicia – the one that was pointing a gun at me, right? Yeah, thought so. She listened to you. You told her to leave us here, and she did it.”

“She’s not a bad person,” Al says. “Really. She just – makes bad decisions, from what I can tell.”

“You barely know her.”

“She shot me,” Al says. “And she could’ve just shot me again or left me on the side of the road to die while she stole all my shit, but she didn’t. And she doesn’t want to.”

“She likes you.”

“Something like that,” Al breathes. “But she’s not a bad person, and I’d rather you didn’t try to splatter her brains across the side of my van, okay?”

“Al, this is – this is madness,” Brody says. He glances toward the door, as if someone’s going to come barging through it, then lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. Al blinks away the tears forming in her eyes from the pain and studies the concerned look on Brody’s face. “They’re out there hunting someone down to – to what? Take revenge?”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

“A lot of people died,” Al says. “Because of this – this group. They’re called the Vultures. They preyed off settlements, but there’s only one of them left alive.”

“That woman? The one with a boyfriend? The one that your friends are tracking down right now?”

“Yes.”

“And the Vultures brought down the settlement your friends are from, I’m guessing,” Brody says.

“Yes.”

Brody inhales deeply. “They’re still here to steal my shit, aren’t they?”

Al cracks a pained smile. “They’ve already done that, buddy.”

Brody hesitates. He drops the bolt-action rifle to the ground, but Al sees the grip of the Beretta poking out from the back of Brody’s jeans. “If I don’t try to shoot them first when they get back, are they going to kill me?” Brody asks.

Al squeezes her eyes shut momentarily. “I don’t know. I’ll do everything I can to stop them, I swear.”

“But if you were in my shoes,” Brody says slowly. “If this was your home and your shit. What would you do? Would you shoot them the second they pulled up?”

“Yes,” Al says. “ _But_. But. I don’t think I’d be able to hit them before they hit me. So how good of a shot are you, Brodes?”

“Not that fucking good,” he mutters. He yanks the Beretta from the back of his jeans and tosses it onto the bed within Al’s reach. “And definitely not a fucking good shot with a handgun. I’m a fisherman, not a sniper.”

Al takes the Beretta back, not that Brody notices or even cares. “Exactly,” Al agrees. “So when they get back, we just need to stay calm. With a little luck, we’ll all be on our way and out of your hair.”

“They have all my guns. My food. What the hell am I supposed to do?” Brody demands.

“There are other places,” Al says. “And there are people – good people – out there. Maybe it’s time to, you know, branch out.”

Brody shakes his head. “You talked me out of dying once,” he says. “If I’m going to die anyway, might as well be because I took a stand, right?”

“Please,” Al pleads, “please don’t do that.”

Brody stands and picks the rifle up. He wags a finger at Al, a slight smile on his face. “See, I knew you had a soft spot for the girl. That’s why you’re trying to talk me out of this, right? You’re afraid I’ll shoot her.”

“I’m more afraid she’ll shoot you,” Al argues. “You’re a good man, Brody. Don’t do this.”

“Good men defend their homes.”

“Jesus Christ!” Al exclaims. “It’s a house. There are other houses, okay?”

Brody nods. “And there are other women, Al. Maybe don’t pick one that points guns at people’s heads for no good reason.”

“No one has to die,” Al argues. Brody’s hand is on the door handle, and if he steps out of that room, Al loses. She can’t move, and he knows it. “You don’t have to kill anyone –”

“But you can’t guarantee they won’t kill me,” Brody says. “That’s the kind of people they are.”

“They survive.”

“Yeah?” Brody questions. He releases the door handle and raises his eyebrows. “You got any kind of idea what that kind of life is? That’s all I’ve been doing, and let me tell you, Al. Surviving isn’t living. I haven’t lived since I lost everything that gave my life meaning. You’ve gotten yourself mixed up with some dangerous people. If that’s the life you want, then so be it. You have to live with it. But this is my life – what’s left of it – and I’m going to protect it.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“Then let them.”

Al yells out, more from frustration than actual pain, but it brings Brody back to the bedside out of concern. Al reaches out, grasping onto his forearm tightly.

“Don’t,” Al whispers. “Please. Just stay here.”

Al hears the unmistakable sound of her van approaching the house. Brody hears it, too, and he gently pulls Al’s hand off his arm.

“Don’t move,” Brody tells her. “I’ll come back for you.”

“Brody, don’t –!”

The door slams shut, and Al shouts in both pain and frustration as she forces herself to sit up. The extra flare of pain in her stomach is probably her only warning to slow down, but Al’s running out of options. She very much doubts that she can stand, but she puts her boots on the ground and shifts her weight onto her feet, groaning. She takes the Beretta with, though she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with it, quite honestly. Standing is an accomplishment in itself. Shooting a gun _and_ hitting a moving target is likely next to impossible.

Al makes it to the door. Her shoulder falls against it, and she pants from the exertion. Her body’s telling her to lie down – or maybe pop some of those pills hanging out in her pocket – but she can do neither at the moment. She gets the door open, pressing the hand not holding the Beretta against her side near the wound, and she shuffles from the master bedroom toward the living room. The engine shuts off out front. The sun’s barely starting to rise, giving them a very small amount of light to work with.

Brody’s crouched beside the cabinets, bolt-action rifle in hands. He’s shielded from the front door, and all he’ll have to do is turn and pull the trigger. Whoever’s in the doorway will take a bullet somewhere in the abdomen or chest, and that’s nearly a death sentence. Nearly, only because Al’s managed to survive a bullet so far.

Brody spots Al right as the doorknob starts to turn. His eyes widen, and he waves his hand frantically to signal Al to get down. And she gets down, alright. Her legs stop being capable of supporting her weight, and she hits the floor on her knees. She’s barely clinging to consciousness, but she manages to get her arms out in an attempt to break her fall. The Beretta clatters to the floor, and the person at the door hesitates. Al hits the floor next, and everything happens all at once.

The front door opens. Brody moves toward Al, brandishing the bolt-action rifle. He barely takes aim before he fires, and he’s already off balance, but the kickback sends him to his ass just to Al’s right. He loses his grip on the rifle, and it joins the Beretta on the floor, just out of Brody’s reach. Al lifts her head, teeth bared, and watches as Alicia stumbles back out of the door into Luciana behind her.

Al twists, screaming as pain tears through her abdomen, but she locks her arms around Brody’s midsection and prevents him from retrieving the rifle or Beretta. Luciana maneuvers Alicia to the armchair as Victor shoves his way in – behind someone else, that is. Al’s still screaming, she realizes, but Brody has forgotten about the gun and has his gaze set on the blood spreading across the bandage over her stomach.

Victor throws John Dorie to the ground face first and trains one revolver on him, one revolver on Brody.

“Everybody stop moving!” Victor orders. “Now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely picture Brody as Chris Evans in his new movie The Red Sea Diving Resort – though I have only seen gifs and not the actual movie lol. But that's just me.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	5. Tape

Everybody stops. John Dorie’s hat has slid across the floor toward Al and Brody, and he folds his hands over the back of his head, well aware that Victor’s got one of his own revolvers pointed at him. Alicia brushes Luciana’s hands off of her and stands shakily from the armchair. Blood seeps into the fabric of the Berkeley sweatshirt but just at the top of Alicia’s right shoulder. Al releases her hold on Brody and rolls onto her back. Her eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open, but her screaming has died off. Brody slowly raises his hands in surrender, but his eyes don’t leave Al.

“You move, you die,” Victor says in a dangerously low voice. “Don’t try me.”

“Alicia’s hurt,” Luciana says.

“I’m fine,” Alicia replies. She turns her head to look at her blood soaked shoulder and hisses. “I think it’s just a graze.”

“You’re losing blood,” Luciana argues.

“It can wait,” Alicia insists. “We have bigger problems.”

“Al’s bleeding,” Luciana frets.

“And the big guy’s free,” Alicia says.

“Say the word,” Victor says.

“No!” Luciana exclaims before Alicia can say anything. “He knows the area well. We need him alive if we’re going to find _her_.”

“You won’t,” John Dorie says into the floor. “You won’t find her. She’s gone.”

“Shut up!” Alicia snaps. “She isn’t gone yet. And she won’t go anywhere. Not while we have you.”

“That’s not true,” John Dorie argues. His hands stay clasped together on the back of his head as Alicia crouches and pats him down. Alicia grits her teeth against the pain radiating from her bleeding shoulder, but she determines John Dorie’s only weapons are in Victor’s hands. She does find a set of handcuffs with the keys in his back pocket, though. “She’ll run,” John Dorie continues. “She knows not to stay.”

“Shut it, Dorie,” Alicia says. “She’s not who you think she is.”

“I know her.”

“Tie him up,” Alicia tells Victor. She trades the handcuffs for one of the revolvers, keeping it aimed at Brody. “We’ll throw him in the basement for now.”

Victor nods and hauls John Dorie to his feet. Victor jabs the barrel of the revolver against John Dorie’s back and guides him to the basement steps.

“We need him alive,” Luciana reminds Alicia, motioning toward Brody.

“Then he better not try anything,” Alicia replies. “He already shot me.”

“Sorry?” Brody says. He continues to hold his hands up in surrender. Alicia has a hard time keeping her eyes on him. She feels the urge to look over at Al every few seconds. She’s still on her back, shirt fallen open. Blood’s starting to spread from beneath the bandage across her stomach, and Alicia swallows hard but forces herself to watch Brody York instead. He’s as stiff as a board, though, not bothering to look at Alicia. He’s staring at Al.

“She really needs help,” Brody says. He even sounds…worried? Panicked? Both? Alicia can’t figure that one out right now, but he _is_ right. Al needs help.

“You let me handle that,” Alicia tells him. She tightens her grip on the revolver to keep her hand from shaking. The stinging in her shoulder is slowly reaching an excruciating level of pain, so she can only imagine what Al’s been dealing with. The last thing Alicia wants to have to do is fire this damn revolver. The pain’s already almost enough to make her want to pass out; she doesn’t want to know what’ll happen if she has to shoot Brody and deal with the kickback from the revolver.

Alicia suppresses a sigh of relief when she hears Victor’s footsteps on the stairs, and she all but shoves the revolver into his chest as he returns.

“John Dorie?” Alicia questions.

“Handcuffed to a pipe,” Victor confirms. He grins. “The only way he’s getting out of that without the key is if he wants to lose a limb in the process.”

Alicia wordlessly hands the keys to the cuffs to Victor then pulls the Berkeley sweatshirt over her head. Luciana converges on Alicia, catching her off guard, but Alicia can’t bring herself to protest when Luciana splashes water over the wound and confirms it’s just a graze.

“See?” Alicia says weakly. “Told you it was fine.”

Luciana glares at her and slaps a wad of gauze over the wound, applying pressure. “It’s not fine,” Luciana growls. “You’re all a bunch of idiots.”

“I think this is working out pretty well,” Victor quips. “All things considered.”

“Can you keep pressure on that while I help Al?” Alicia asks.

“I can try,” Luciana agrees.

“If she dies –” Brody starts.

“You stay quiet,” Alicia interrupts, pointing her finger at Brody. “No one asked you. You’re supposed to be duct taped to a chair. If you would’ve just stayed there, none of this would be happening. Al would be fine.”

“Move,” Victor commands, motioning for Brody to abandon his spot at Al’s side as Alicia kneels beside Al. “Alicia can take care of this.”

“I need the stuff from the van,” Alicia says, shaking her head. “That first aid kit’s not going to do it.”

“Who do you suggest goes to get that stuff?” Victor asks wryly. He shoves Brody into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, continuing to point John Dorie’s revolver at him. “Maybe we should send our new friend Brody here to do it.”

“I could do without the sass,” Alicia replies, but she exchanges a quick grin with Victor before returning her attention to Al. “Luci, just go quick. I won’t bleed to death before you get back.”

“But Al might,” Luciana mutters. She’s already taking off, and Alicia has no choice but to press her hands over the drenched bandage on Al’s stomach and hope applying pressure to the wound is doing something productive. Al doesn’t even react as Alicia pushes on the wound, and that scares Alicia more than the blood trickling down her own arm does.

“Al,” Alicia says quietly. “Hey. Come on. Please look at me.”

Al’s eyelids flutter open, but her eyes are unfocused. Alicia smiles encouragingly, though, and pushes down a little harder. Al makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and Alicia doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Luciana returns with the backpack of medical supplies and the manual, and she quickly hands Alicia more gauze pads to hold against the wound.

“She needs a transfusion,” Alicia says. “And I’ve never done one before.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Luciana assures her. “Keep trying to stop the bleeding. I have to take care of your shoulder.”

Alicia can’t believe she’s about to say this, but –

“Just duct tape it,” Alicia says.

“What?” Luciana exclaims.

“Have you lost it?” Victor questions.

“Put some gauze down on it first,” Alicia says, “and secure it with duct tape. We can worry about the rest later, once Al’s stable again.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Brody agrees.

“Shut up, pretty boy,” Victor tells him.

“Geez,” Brody says. “I’m trying to be helpful here. And I’m not pretty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Victor replies.

“Do it!” Alicia shouts. “Now!”

Luciana pauses to pour antiseptic on the graze wound on the top of Alicia’s right shoulder then presses gauze against it. Victor hands her the roll of duct tape and, reluctantly, Luciana firmly tapes the gauze down on Alicia’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Alicia sighs. “Come on,” she says to herself. “Stop bleeding, you fucker.”

“It’s not – nice – to insult me – like that,” Al chokes out in a voice only audible to Alicia.

Alicia’s lips twist into a smile. “You’re back,” she says as a smile flickers on Al’s face. “Good. And for the record, I was talking to the wound.”

Al grabs onto Alicia’s wrist, but her grasp is weak. It’s clear what she’s trying to do, though, and Alicia shakes her head vigorously.

“Stop,” Alicia tells her. “I’m not – we’re not giving up, okay? You’re gonna be alright. Luci – Luci, hold her hand, okay?”

Luciana doesn’t say anything, just presses her lips together and pulls Al’s hand off of Alicia’s wrist and into her own lap. Alicia closes her eyes, and her lips moves silently. She keeps pressure on the wound and hopes the bleeding’s about to stop. She can feel Victor and Brody’s eyes on her back, but thankfully, Luciana’s looking down at Al instead of at her now. Luciana’s got one hand in Al’s, the other on Al’s forehead, and she’s saying something in Spanish. Alicia’s pretty sure Al doesn’t know Spanish, but hey, maybe she’s wrong. Or maybe it doesn’t really matter what Luciana’s saying as much as it matters that her words sound soothing. Al’s probably a little beyond hearing them right now anyway.

“I think – I think the bleeding’s stopping,” Alicia announces.

“Okay,” Luciana says calmly. “What’s next?”

“I can’t – I can’t stitch it again,” Alicia admits. “Not with my shoulder – not like this.”

“So what?” Luciana questions. “We duct tape it?”

Al laughs _very_ feebly at that and hums in…agreement?

“No,” Alicia says. “No way. We – we’re doing the transfusion first. Then I’ll figure out what to do from there.”

“Let me help,” Brody offers from the kitchen table.

“Quiet,” Victor orders.

“No,” Alicia says. “No, I think – I think we need the extra hands. Just watch him, Victor. Shoot him if he tries anything.”

“I won’t try anything,” Brody insists. “I swear. Come on. I don’t want to see her die either, okay? She helped me once. It’s the least I can do.”

“Fine,” Victor agrees. He motions toward Al with the revolver. “But one misstep, pretty boy, and that’s it for you.”

“Tell me what to do,” Brody says, kneeling on the floor beside Alicia and Al.

“There’s stuff in the backpack,” Alicia says. “Luci, the book. What does the book say?”

Luciana turns the manual so Alicia can see, but it’s hardly going to help her. Brody, meanwhile, pulls the tubing, needles, and IV bags free.

“We just need the tubing and the needles,” Alicia tells him. “We’ll do it directly. Shit, this better fucking work. Can you do it or do you have to take over for me?”

Brody blinks. “Can I do what?”

“Trade spots,” Alicia tells him. “Put your hands right where mine are and press down hard. Don’t let up.”

“Wait,” Luciana says once Alicia and Brody have swapped places. “Her blood type –”

“She said she’s AB-positive,” Alicia reminds. “There’s no blood type problem. I’m A-positive. It’s fine.”

“You’re losing blood, too,” Luciana argues. “You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” Alicia snarls. “If she dies, it’s my fault.”

Brody looks like he wants to say something, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut as Alicia wrestles with the tubing and the needles. Her hands are slippery with blood, but she manages to get everything set up. There’s no time to waste. She hands one end to Luciana and keeps the other for herself. It better work. It better work –

The blood starts flowing through the tube, and Alicia laughs deliriously. She’s careful not to jostle around too much, but she pats Al on the upper thigh and murmurs, “You’re gonna be okay, got that?”

Al might not even be conscious. Alicia’s not sure. Luciana counts quietly to herself, and Alicia just tries to pay attention to when she first starts to feel lightheaded. The moment that starts to happen is also the moment Luciana reaches over and disconnects the needle from Al’s arm.

“That’s enough,” Luciana says. She presses a wad of gauze to Al’s arm, tapes it down, then turns to Alicia.

“You’re right,” Alicia says dazedly. “That’s enough.”

“Arm, please,” Luciana says, wiggling her fingers. Alicia holds her arm out, and Luciana plucks the needle free and patches Alicia’s arm up. “Your shoulder’s next,” Luciana tells her.

“Not yet,” Alicia says. “Al’s not –”

“You aren’t touching her until you recover,” Luciana says sharply. “Brody and I can make sure the bleeding’s handled. You need to go lie down.”

“Can I just say,” Brody says, “you guys are fucking nuts.”

“We’re hardcore,” Alicia corrects. She smiles dopily and snatches up the bloodied Berkeley sweatshirt. She mumbles something about it being cold and pulls it back on.

The next thing Alicia knows, she’s waking up. She groans. Her right shoulder’s fucking killing her, and she’s got a mild headache from God knows what. Alicia’s eyes open, and she’s staring up at the ceiling. She lifts her head up, hissing as her shoulder tweaks and sends pain shooting down her arm, then drops back down. Alicia looks over at her shoulder, at the blood dried into the Berkeley sweatshirt, and she pulls the sweatshirt far enough away from her shoulder to give her an idea of what’s going on.

It’s not duct taped anymore. Alicia’s memories flood back in, and the last thing she remembers is the blood transfusion. Luciana must’ve taken care of her shoulder while she was unconscious. Alicia’s heart beats faster. If she passed out, anything could’ve happened. She’s not even sure where she is –

But she’s in a bed. And when she rolls her head to the right, she sees the bear lamp propped up on the bedside table. Alicia relaxes a little. They haven’t left Brody York’s cabin. She isn’t sure exactly how she got into Brody’s bed, but the mattress is comfortable. But Al – for all Alicia knows, Al bled to death while she was unconscious, turned into a walker, and had to be put down. Alicia’s jaw clenches at the thought, but someone shifts on the other side of the bed, redirecting Alicia’s focus. She panics, because maybe Brody had gotten the upper hand on them and –

No, she’s just being ridiculous. Alicia chastises herself for not having enough faith in Victor and Luciana. Though she frantically pats herself down for a weapon that she doesn’t have, she gets eyes on the person to her left. Alicia sighs in relief when she sees Al very much alive. Al grimaces and reaches for her abdomen before her eyes are even open.

“Al,” Alicia says quietly, hoping she won’t scare the shit out of her.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t touch that,” Alicia says. She reaches over and pulls Al’s unbuttoned shirt out of the way. Alicia’s jaw falls open, and she makes a mental note to give whoever did that a piece of her mind later. They really went and duct taped bandages over the entrance wound. Al finally opens her eyes and looks down at it for herself. Al cracks a weary smile and drops her head back down to the pillow, turning it to face Alicia.

“You can’t just let me die, can you, Alicia Clark?” Al mumbles. Alicia’s about to start up a heated argument, but her words die in her throat when Al grins sleepily and pushes her hand through her messy hair.

“It’s my fault if you die,” Alicia whispers.

“S’okay,” Al says. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can’t save everyone.”

“I can try,” Alicia insists. Her face falls. “No one’s gone til they’re gone.”

Alicia can’t expect Al to understand. Al grunts out something about feeling like she’s been hit by a truck. Alicia swallows hard. Her eyes study Al’s face, but Al’s preoccupied with pulling her shirt farther open and inspecting the hack job Luciana and Victor did on her stomach.

“I told you,” Al says, “duct tape would solve the problem.”

Alicia laughs so hard it hurts both her shoulder and her stomach, and Al grins back at her. Al’s eyes fall to Alicia’s shoulder, to the blood dried into the Berkeley sweatshirt, and Alicia’s laughter fades. She stares into Al’s eyes, but she can’t read whatever’s there. Alicia tears her eyes away from Al’s face, trailing them down her body to the duct tape abomination covering her stomach. Al’s hand rests in the space between them on the bed. Alicia steels herself then tentatively slides her hand over just so her pinky finger touches Al’s. Alicia flinches and waits for rejection. Al smirks but closes her eyes. Al flips her hand over, and Alicia slips her palm into Al’s, holds on loosely.

“Are you okay?” Al asks. Alicia stares at their clasped hands unabashedly now that Al’s eyes are closed.

“Yeah,” Alicia lies.

“You did the transfusion.”

“Yeah.”

“And Brody shot you.”

“It’s a graze wound,” Alicia corrects. “It’s fine.”

Al grins. “Liar. Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Like a motherfucker,” Alicia blurts. They laugh together tiredly, and Alicia tightens her hold on Al’s hand. “You have the pills?”

Al pats her pocket with her other hand. “Don’t get any ideas,” Al jokes.

“I can’t take those.”

“Why not?”

Alicia hesitates. “I just can’t,” she says softly. The faint sound of voices comes through the closed bedroom door, but Alicia can’t bring herself to focus enough to determine who the voices belong to. “Brody, um, said you helped him,” Alicia says suddenly. “How?”

Al inhales deeply, face contorting in pain momentarily. “I listened,” she answers. “I let him talk.”

“And that was enough?”

Al smiles, and she meets Alicia’s gaze. Al’s eyes are watery as she whispers, “Well, he’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Alicia jumps when the bedroom door bangs against the wall, and she quickly yanks her hand back from Al’s. Alicia pushes herself up, but she’s unarmed, so it’s not like she can do much. Alicia relaxes as her eyes set on Luciana, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Al, thankfully, stays still.

“Sorry,” Luciana says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Alicia dismisses. She points at Al’s stomach. “Who did _that_?”

Luciana smiles sheepishly. “I did. Actually, that’s why I’m here. First, you’re both up. That’s good. But…”

“What?” Alicia questions.

Luciana leans against the doorframe, wringing her hands. “It’s duct taped for a reason,” Luciana says. “The bleeding stopped, but the risk of infection…Alicia, we need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I –”

“You’re hurt,” Luciana says gently.

“You aren’t saying –” Alicia cuts herself off as Luciana nods.

“We need June if you want Al to live,” Luciana says. “We have John. We’ll strike a deal. June helps Al, and we hand John over.”

“What?” Alicia yelps.

“It’s the only way,” Luciana says. She hesitates. “Unless you’re willing to sacrifice Al.”

Al huffs. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Luciana says. “I’m sorry.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Alicia says. She looks from Luciana down to Al. “I can’t let her die. But I can’t let June go.”

“Then come up with a better plan,” Luciana says.

“I can do it,” Alicia insists. “I can fix it.”

“Alicia,” Luciana sighs. “You stitched it the first time. You repaired it the second. You figured out the transfusion.”

“If someone would’ve done what I _told_ her to do, the transfusion wouldn’t have been necessary,” Alicia snaps.

“It doesn’t matter,” Luciana says, saving Al from having to defend herself. “The stitches didn’t hold. We need someone who knows what to do, and that’s June.”

“She can’t be far,” Alicia says.

“We know,” Luciana says. “But Victor and I are going to handle this. You’re hurt, too, and there’s no one here with a blood type that matches yours. So you really can’t try to bleed out.”

“And John Dorie?” Alicia questions.

“Handcuffed to the pipe in the basement still,” Luciana informs.

“Brody York?”

Luciana hesitates. “Dinner is almost ready,” she says.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Alicia calls after Luciana. With the door wide open, she hears the voices more clearly. Victor and Brody laugh, and Alicia hears the clattering of dishes and pots from the kitchen. Alicia turns back to Al, but she’s asleep. Her chest rises and falls steadily, and her face actually looks sort of peaceful. Alicia slides off the bed carefully, so she doesn’t disturb Al, and shuffles out to the living room.

Victor and Brody are busy setting the table and chuckling. They both look in Alicia’s direction as she enters.

“Good evening,” Victor says. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“I slept _all day_?”

Victor nods and crams a forkful of salad into his mouth, chewing furiously. Alicia doesn’t bother to ask where the fresh vegetables came from. She’s been asleep for probably eight hours.

“Dinner’s ready,” Brody says. “How’s Al?”

Alicia looks warily from Brody to Victor, but they’re acting as if Brody wasn’t being held at gunpoint just this morning. He even showered at some point, because he looks clean and he’s wearing a different shirt. His beard’s even been noticeably trimmed.

“She’s asleep,” Alicia says.

“I’ll make sure she eats,” Luciana volunteers. “When she wakes up.”

Alicia nods and takes a seat at the table with Luciana, Victor, and Brody. She prods at her food more than she eats it and listens idly to the conversation that quickly turns toward what they’re going to do.

“John in exchange for June’s skills,” Luciana says. “June helps Al. Then we give her John.”

“We need to find June first,” Victor points out. “And figure out a way to backstab her.”

Luciana glares. “We can worry about that once Al’s good.”

“I can take you into town,” Brody offers. “This June must know you’ve got her boyfriend, right? We tell her the plan – minus the backstabbing thing – and get her here. She helps Al, we give her John, and whatever happens from there…” Brody shrugs instead of finishing his sentence.

“That might work,” Luciana agrees. “If that’s okay with you, Victor.”

Victor smiles. “It’s better than sitting here doing nothing.”

Luciana rolls her eyes. “I’ll sit here and keep an eye on Al and Alicia. I’ll make sure John doesn’t get himself free. You just make sure you get June here alive, and we’ll go from there.”

“We’ll leave tonight,” Victor decides. Brody looks like he wants to protest, but he just grunts and shoves more salad into his mouth. Victor points his fork at Alicia. “You should change your shirt,” he comments. “You’ve got blood all on that one.”

“Get me a new one then,” Alicia mumbles.

“You should eat,” Luciana says.

“Not hungry,” Alicia replies. She pushes her bowl away from her. “I’ll eat later,” she promises. “I’m gonna go sit with Al.”

“I’ll find you a shirt,” Luciana says. “And then I’m taking a look at your shoulder.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Luciana smiles and shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Fine.”

Alicia returns to the master bedroom and smiles at the bear lamp before her eyes land on Al. Al’s forehead is beaded with sweat, and even though her eyes are closed, Alicia knows she’s awake.

“Hey,” Alicia says gently. “Are you hungry? Luci can bring you something.”

“I’m okay,” Al breathes.

“You need to eat something,” Alicia says. She takes a seat on the bed, crossing her legs and leaning back against the headboard.

“It sounded like you didn’t eat anything,” Al replies. “So you’ve got some nerve to come in here and tell me to eat.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” Al answers. She swallows hard, gazing up at Alicia. She reaches into her shirt pocket and frees the bottle of hydrocodone. “Take this,” she says, pressing the bottle into Alicia’s hand.

“Why?”

“It’s too tempting,” Al admits. Alicia sets the bottle next to the bear lamp on the bedside table and winces as her shoulder reminds her she’d been clipped with a bullet earlier. Al almost looks like she wants to say something else, but Luciana enters with a flannel shirt in hand and the backpack of medical supplies over her shoulder.

“They’re going to leave soon,” Luciana says. “Victor and Brody. They’re going to look for June.”

“Tell them to be careful,” Alicia says. “It’s dark.”

“They know what they’re doing,” Luciana assures her. She hands Alicia the flannel, and Alicia carefully maneuvers her way out of the bloodied Berkeley sweatshirt. Luciana discards it for her, and Alicia slides her arms into the flannel. She hesitates then decides not to bother to button it. “We just need to hope they aren’t stupid enough to take a detour,” Luciana jokes. “They’ve been talking about fishing all day. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Fishing?” Alicia questions. “I mean, Brody’s a fisherman, but Victor – since when does Victor care about fishing?”

Luciana laughs and pulls Alicia’s shirt away from her shoulder. She checks the wound quickly and shakes her head. “I don’t know,” Luciana admits. “I didn’t think he did.”

“What’s he doing then?” Alicia says, smiling. “Flirting with our hostage?”

They laugh together, and Al even manages a chuckle. “He’s not a hostage,” Luciana points out.

“We’re trespassing in his home,” Al reminds.

“Ow,” Alicia complains.

“Sorry,” Luciana says. “But it looks good.”

“It’ll heal,” Alicia says. She looks over to Al, to the duct tape that’s keeping her from bleeding out. “You’re sure only June can fix it?” Alicia asks.

“Alicia,” Luciana says. “We both know there’s nothing else you can do for Al.”

“Except keep me company,” Al says. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“I’ll stay,” Alicia agrees. “This bed is really nice.”

“Yeah,” Al says with a grin. “I don’t remember the last time I actually got to sleep in a bed. Too bad I had to get shot first.”

Alicia grimaces, but they’re interrupted by Victor and Brody appearing in the doorway.

“We’re going to start our search,” Victor informs. “Hopefully we’ll have her back here if not before morning then sometime tomorrow.”

“Be careful,” Alicia says.

“Always am.”

Victor winks, but Alicia presses her lips together. First of all, she knows Victor’s not always careful. Second of all, she’s still not sure she totally trusts Brody even though he seems to be Victor’s new best bud.

“You guys gonna be alright?” Brody asks. “Al?”

“I’m good, man,” Al answers. “Just come back in one piece.”

“With June,” Alicia adds. “So we can get that duct tape off Al.”

“And so Al doesn’t bleed to death,” Luciana says.

“We’ve got this,” Victor assures them. “You all just sit tight. Make sure John Dorie doesn’t make a run for it.” They all laugh, except Brody who just looks vaguely uncomfortable. “Come on,” Victor says, clapping Brody on the shoulder. “We’ve got work to do.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Luciana says. She looks back to Al and Alicia. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” she tells them. “Once I make sure John’s still alive and handcuffed to that pipe. Shout if you need anything.”

“We’ll be okay,” Alicia says. Luciana pulls the door closed on her way out, and Alicia exhales heavily. “You’re okay, right?” she questions.

“For now.”

“How’s the pain?”

“Worse now that I’m thinking about it,” Al says. She waves off Alicia’s attempt at an apology. “It’s pretty bad,” she murmurs.

“There’s the hydrocodone.”

“I don’t want it,” Al insists.

“Okay,” Alicia says. “Then it’s going to be a long night.”

Al hums. “It’s going to be a long night no matter what, Alicia.”

“I’ll keep you entertained.”

“Yeah?”

Alicia smiles, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. “Sure. I bet there’s lots we can talk about.”

“Lucky me.”

Alicia laughs. “Try not to sound too excited.”

“I’ll sound excited when you’ve got something interesting to say.”

Alicia thinks for a minute. “I stole a cool switchblade from Brody,” she says. “You wanna see it?”

Al’s face lights up. “Yeah. Give it here.”

Alicia pulls the switchblade from the pocket of her sweats and passes it to Al. Al turns it over in her palm and flicks the blade loose, grinning to herself. “It’s pretty cool,” Al agrees. She hands the blade back, and Alicia shakes her head.

“Like you’ve never seen a switchblade before.”

“You seemed excited about it.”

“Just don’t tell Brody I stole it,” Alicia says pointedly.

“What’s in it for me?”

Alicia smiles wryly. “The pleasure of my company.”

Before Al can respond, the door opens and Luciana glides in. “Victor and Brody are on their way,” she says, “and John’s still secure. He’s whiny, but he ate dinner, so I’m sure he’s fine.” Alicia’s eyes follow Luciana as she walks up to the bedside table. Before Alicia can ask what she’s doing, Luciana sets one of the Berettas beside the bear lamp. “Just in case,” she says.

Alicia nods. “Luci?”

“Hmm?”

“Goodnight.”

A serious look crosses Luciana’s face, and she just murmurs, “We’ll find out if it’s a good night when the sun rises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	6. Promise

Alicia stares down at the switchblade in her palm. Eventually, she closes the blade and slides the handle back into the pocket of her sweats. Alicia leans back into the headboard and stretches her legs out in front of her. She fans herself with her open flannel, unsure if it’s getting warm in the bedroom or if it’s just her. She glances over at Al – who she honestly thought would be asleep by now – but Al’s been sweating pretty much nonstop since she first took a bullet, so she’s not really a great indication of the room’s temperature.

Al hasn’t spoken since Luciana left them with the Beretta and shut the door behind her. To be fair, Alicia hasn’t said anything, either. Alicia thought she was good at handling pain by now, but Al’s right. That bottle of hydrocodone is getting very, _very_ tempting. It’s like the longer she just sits here and does nothing, the worse the pain gets. Alicia can only imagine how Al feels, then.

“How’s the pain?” Alicia asks.

“Gets worse the longer I’m awake.”

“Then sleep.”

Al smiles sardonically up at Alicia. “Oh, wow, I never thought of that. It’s not like I slept all day or anything.”

“Shut up,” Alicia says quietly. She reaches over and grasps onto Al’s shoulder. Al exhales and pulls Alicia’s hand off her shoulder. Alicia almost says something but bites her tongue when Al doesn’t release her hand. Alicia holds on tightly, unsure of what to say – unsure of if she even should say anything at all. But if she has to sit here all night in silence, she’s going to lose her mind. So Alicia takes a chance. “What’s on your mind?”

Al’s eyes flick back up to Alicia’s face. For a moment, Alicia thinks Al’s just going to ignore her. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” Al says.

“What are you thinking about right this moment?”

“Your question.”

“Come on,” Alicia says softly. “Be serious.”

Al grimaces. “Why? Humor dulls the pain.”

Alicia doesn’t bother to mention the pills. “It’s worse.”

Al just sighs. Alicia gently frees her hand from Al’s and brings it to Al’s forehead. She’s sweaty, maybe a little warm, but Alicia can’t really tell. She’s starting to sweat herself. She half considers calling Luciana into the room to tell her if it’s gotten hotter in here or if it’s the pain making her feel warmer.

“You really think I’m going to make it through this, don’t you?” Al asks, mildly startling Alicia.

“What? Yeah. Of course,” Alicia says. “The bleeding’s under control. It’s gotta get worse before it gets better, though, right?”

Al huffs. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, Alicia.”

“I’ll let you know when I think you’re about to kick the bucket, okay?” Alicia says. It’s supposed to be a joke, but Al purses her lips and moves her head in a way that might be a nod. “Come on,” Alicia says, pushing her hand from Al’s forehead into her hair. “Think about something else.”

“How can I? Brody and Victor are out there trying to retrieve June so she can work a miracle on me, and once that happens, you’re planning on…what exactly? Stabbing her in the back with that switchblade?”

“There’s an idea,” Alicia says.

“How am I supposed to think about something else? The pain’s a constant reminder.”

“It’s mind over matter,” Alicia argues. “I mean, that’s what my mom would say, at least. You can outthink pain.”

“I don’t want to.”

“No, come on,” Alicia says. She slides herself down, settling on her good side, facing Al. She manages to keep her fingers tangled in Al’s hair, and she reaches for Al’s arm with her other hand even though the motion sends stinging pain through her arm. It’s not a very comfortable position for her to lie in, but she makes it work. “Don’t give up. We aren’t there.”

Alicia’s fingers curl around Al’s bicep, and her eyes search the side of Al’s face. “You promised,” Al reminds her, “to get my tapes into the right hands.”

“I know.”

“And you promised not to drag my death out. You promised not to let me be one of those things.”

“I know,” Alicia says forcefully. “But I promised I would take care of it when I was _positive_ you wouldn’t survive. And I’m positive that you _are_ going to make it.” Alicia pauses, biting down on her inside of her cheek. “If June can’t do anything for you, then we can talk about this, okay?”

Al just barely nods. “Fine,” she agrees. “But don’t fall asleep. Just in case I bite it in the middle of the night, yeah? Don’t want to take you with me.”

“Shut up,” Alicia says weakly. “You’re going to make it through tonight at least. It’s going to be the longest night of your life, probably, but you’ll make it.”

Al hums. “It’ll have a hard time dethroning the previous longest night of my life, but maybe you’re right. And no, we aren’t going to talk about that. In fact, I’d rather return to the conversation we were having, uh, last night? I’m losing track of my days. But right before Brody pulled up and ruined everything.”

“I remember. Why do you want to…oh. Right.”

Al rolls her head to the side and meets Alicia’s gaze. A smile flickers on her face, but Alicia can see the pain just below the surface, always shimmering in Al’s eyes. Alicia realizes she can’t recall a moment where Al looked genuinely happy, without feeling any sort of pain. Mostly because Alicia hardly knew Al before she shot her and caused this mess.

“Because you really thought I’m an asshole that plays with people’s feelings, didn’t you?” Al says.

“Maybe.”

Al grins. “You did.”

Alicia smiles in spite of herself. “To be fair, you turned into an asshole for a while there.”

“I was in pain,” Al defends. “You idiots hauled me inside on a door.”

“It was a brilliant idea.”

“You almost dropped me.”

Alicia laughs. She pulls her hand free of Al’s hair and readjusts the way she’s lying so her arm stops trying to go numb. She doesn’t let go of Al’s bicep. “I’ll give you that one,” Alicia concedes. “So where did we leave off last night? Before Brody rudely interrupted us and shot me?”

“Grazed you,” Al corrects. “That’s a glorified cut. I could show you a _real_ gunshot wound if it wasn’t buried beneath three layers of duct tape and gauze.”

“Luciana wasn’t taking any chances,” Alicia says.

“You’re going to pull this tape off to find a raging staph infection,” Al replies.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Al says, grinning. “It’s probably true.”

“We found antibiotics –”

“Relax, Alicia,” Al cuts in. “It’s okay if I die.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re right,” Al says. “Because I’m in a bed with a beautiful woman for the first time in _years_ , and I’m too injured to do anything about it.”

Al laughs as Alicia’s face burns red, but Alicia manages a small smile. “Don’t flatter me,” Alicia says.

“You know, I’ve only actually been stabbed one time before, but I feel like I’m being constantly stabbed, over and over. So if I want to flatter you, I’m going to.”

“Well, don’t flatter me right after you say it’s okay if you die,” Alicia says. “How about that?”

“That’s fair.”

Alicia drops her forehead against Al’s shoulder but doesn’t close her eyes. She just can’t take making eye contact with Al anymore.

“So you wanted to kiss me?” Alicia mumbles.

“I didn’t realize I’d have to spell out _I wanted to kiss you_ for you, but apparently, you’re a lot more oblivious than I first thought.”

Alicia smiles to herself, tightening her hold on Al’s arm. “God, I wish I hadn’t shot you.”

“Me too,” Al chuckles. “But hey, you didn’t mean to.”

“You’re the one that told me intentions don’t matter.”

“I mean, if you’d intended to shoot me, I would’ve already kicked you onto the floor.”

Al winces, and Alicia lifts her head, features laced with concern. Alicia’s eyes go first to Al’s stomach but quickly trail up to her face. Al wipes her expression blank, though, then musters up a smile.

“I wish I could help,” Alicia murmurs.

“You could let up on my arm a little. It’s starting to hurt.”

“Sorry,” Alicia says, quickly letting go of Al’s bicep. She shifts closer and rests her hand on the center of Al’s chest lightly. Her eyes study Al’s face for any changes, but Al just blinks. “There’s nothing I can do,” Alicia says.

“I know.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“There are worse ways to go.”

“Not this again,” Alicia sighs. “We can talk about literally anything other than your death, okay? _Anything_.”

Al grins. “Anything?”

“It’s a one-time offer, so you better use it wisely.”

“Give me a minute, then,” Al says. “I don’t want to waste my one real chance to get to know you.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “I’d hate to find out what you’re like when you’re not in an immense amount of pain.”

“I’m pretty fun, actually,” Al jokes. Her laugh turns into a groan, and her hand heads toward the duct tape mess on her stomach. Alicia’s quick to snatch Al’s hand out of the air and bring it up to rest on her chest with Alicia’s. The last thing Al needs to do is poke at the duct tape.

“I doubt it,” Alicia says. “Seems to me you like to film the worst moments of people’s lives.”

Al’s eye twitches, but her eyebrows raise in a way that tells Alicia that Al has no fucking clue what she means. “Sorry?” Al says.

“You were filming when Nick died,” Alicia says quietly. “That was one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me. Right up there with my mom and dad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing you can do now,” Alicia says. She frees her hand from Al’s and slides it up until her fingertips press against Al’s jaw.

“What happened to them?” Al asks. “Your parents.”

Alicia’s body tenses. “That’s what you want to use your free pass on?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Alicia inhales deeply. “If I tell you, you have to tell me something, too.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” Al replies. “I’m still not sure I’ll make it to morning.”

“Stop it,” Alicia hisses. “Do you want to go first?”

“No,” Al says. “I asked first.”

“You’re getting the short version.”

Al smiles, swallows hard, and closes her eyes. Alicia’s fingers fall from Al’s jaw and press to the pulse point in her throat instead. Al waits while Alicia searches for the right words.

“My dad killed himself,” Alicia says slowly, “back when the dead still stayed dead. My mom told us it was an accident, but she finally, uh, told me the truth. And my mom…she sacrificed herself for us at the stadium that the Vultures destroyed. I killed the Vultures for what they did to my family. There’s only one more.”

“June.”

“June.” Alicia sighs heavily and focuses on the rapid beating of Al’s pulse beneath her fingers. “Too bad we need her if you want to stay alive, right?”

“Terrible,” Al says jokingly.

“Your turn.”

A smile lingers on Al’s face, and her eyes stay closed. “You know, I don’t have to say anything,” Al says. “Brody and Victor went in Brody’s truck, didn’t they?”

“They didn’t say.”

“I didn’t hear my van,” Al says. “Go get my camera. And the tapes.”

Alicia shifts uneasily. “You’re sure?”

“Hmm. Go before I change my mind.”

“Right.”

Alicia has to go through Luciana first, of course. Luciana looks suspicious but volunteers to go retrieve the camera and tapes, even though Alicia argues that she can take care of it. Luciana’s eyes drop to Alicia’s shoulder, and Alicia urges her along without further comment. Luciana returns with the camera and box of tapes and deposits both into Alicia’s arms.

“What’s going on?” Luciana asks.

“I don’t know,” Alicia says, and it’s not even really a lie.

“Is she okay?”

Alicia pauses. “I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?” Luciana asks sharply.

“Oh, you mean – nothing’s changed,” Alicia says quickly. “Everything’s still…duct taped together.”

Luciana stares at her curiously. Alicia hurries back to the master bedroom and shuts the door before Luciana can question her further. Al stares at Alicia from the bed, and Alicia’s about to ask what the deal is when Al says, “You should button your shirt.”

“I – what?”

“Yeah,” Al says. “It’s distracting.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Shut up,” she mumbles.

“I, at least, have an excuse,” Al says, motioning to her stomach. “You’re just showing off.”

Alicia shakes her head and passes Al the camera and box of tapes. But once the camera and tapes are in Al’s hands, she freezes.

“What’s wrong?” Alicia asks. She starts to cross her arms over her chest, but her shoulder protests, and she quickly stops, dropping her arms to her sides. Alicia stands beside the bed, staring down at Al. “Is it the wound?” Alicia asks, eyes widening. She pulls Al’s shirt farther open, but the duct tape abomination doesn’t look any different than before.

“No, I – I don’t know. It just hurts. I’m fine.”

Alicia stares at Al, watches her face screw up in pain. Alicia’s hands hover over Al’s abdomen, but there’s nothing she can do. That’s the worst part. “Here,” Alicia says softly. She takes the camera and tapes back from Al and sets them on the bedside table. Alicia climbs back on the bed beside Al, but she hesitates. She’s afraid touching her will just make it worse. “Tell me what I can do,” Alicia says.

Al holds her hand up, and Alicia figures it’s a gesture that means _stop_ or _shut up_ , but Alicia grasps Al’s hand in both of hers and hangs on. Al grunts and squeezes Alicia’s hand back with considerable force given her condition.

“I can tell you something else,” Alicia offers. “If it’ll keep you distracted.”

“Maybe not a story about death,” Al manages to say.

“Nothing depressing, got it,” Alicia agrees. She holds Al’s hand against her chest and hums while she thinks. “I have to go pretty far back,” Alicia admits. “When, uh, when Nick and I were young, we found this baby bird, right? I mean, it found us. Flew into the window, but it was so small and fragile, and it was all alone. So Nick and I took it in and cared for it, and I just remember really, _really_ not wanting that poor bird to die. I think my mom was terrified it was going to, you know? I would’ve been crushed, but Nick would’ve taken it even harder.” Alicia pauses and shakes her head, fighting a smile. “But that damn bird lived, and even after all these years, I still remember it. How it wouldn’t stop fighting.”

Alicia looks down at Al, surprised to find Al staring at her with an odd look on her face.

“What?” Alicia says.

“The bird,” Al winces. “Did the bird have a name?”

Alicia blinks. “Yeah,” Alicia says cautiously. “That’s a weird question, but okay. Yeah. We named it Wilhelmina, but we called it –”

“Amina,” Al finishes.

Alicia hesitates, eyebrows pulling together. She lowers Al’s hand from her chest into her lap. “How’d you know that?” Alicia asks. “I didn’t think you talked to Nick much –” Alicia cuts herself off. All the blood drains from her face. Alicia jumps off the bed, and Al lets out a sharp cry of pain that only briefly slows Alicia down. She snatches the box of tapes and dumps them onto the bed.

“Hey,” Al breathes. “I think it’s time you give me those pills.”

Alicia grabs the bottle without thinking and tosses it onto the bed beside Al. Vaguely, Alicia thinks she should get Al water, but Al’s dry swallowing the pills before Alicia has the chance. She searches through the tapes quickly, dropping each one she picks up back into the box until she finds _it_. The one. She stares at the neatly written label on the edge of the tape, and her hands tremble violently.

_Amina_.

“You knew her?” Alicia squeaks.

“She never told me her name,” Al says. She hands the bottle of hydrocodone back to Alicia, and it takes all of Alicia’s willpower to not throw the bottle into the wall. She slams it back onto the table as Al adds, “And she didn’t tell me who her kids were, either. She told me about Amina.”

“Why?”

Al waves her hand and whispers, “Just watch it.”

Alicia takes the time to gather the rest of the tapes back up, since she so rudely scattered them across the bed, and tentatively sits beside Al again. Her hands shake so much, she struggles to get the tape open and into the camera. She knows what to expect, but her chest still clenches when her mother’s face appears on the small screen. As Madison starts to speak, Alicia’s throat feels like it’s closing off. She barely chokes down a sob, but tears stream down her face long before the tape comes to an end. She never thought she’d have a chance to see her mom again, let alone hear her tell the story about Amina, of all things. Her mom could’ve been reading the phone book, for all Alicia would care. At least she could hear her voice.

“So she’s gone,” Al says quietly. “She gave her life for yours.”

Alicia squeezes her eyes shut, but the tears keep falling. She nods and shuts the camera off, setting it aside. She swipes at the tears with the heels of her hands, grits her teeth against the pain it causes her – but the pain’s actually welcome this time. Alicia would take physical pain over the pain losing everyone she loves brings every single time.

“I’m sorry,” Al says. She reaches up and cups Alicia’s cheek in her head, without wincing or anything. Those pills work fast. Alicia leans into Al’s touch and wills herself to stop crying. Al’s going to start thinking she’s an emotional wreck if Alicia’s not careful.

Alicia clears her throat and pulls Al’s hand from her face. She doesn’t let go, resting their hands on her leg. “You shouldn’t be sorry,” Alicia says. She stares at the closed door because it’s easier than looking over at Al. “I got to see my mom again. I should probably thank you.”

Al grins. “I knew those tapes would be good for something one day.”

Alicia breathes raggedly and just nods. Al’s grin slides.

“Don’t thank me, okay?” Al says. “It’s just what I do.”

“I barely know anything about you,” Alicia blurts.

Al laughs incredulously. “What? Where’s that coming from?” Al asks.

“Filming is what you do,” Alicia says. “But I don’t know _why_. You know about my mom. Nick. The Vultures. Jesus, you even know I was accepted to Berkeley. I don’t even know your fucking last name.”

“Szewczek-Przygocki.”

Alicia makes a face. “What the hell was that?”

Al cracks a smile. “My last name.”

Alicia pauses. “Say it again,” she requests. “But slower.”

“Szewczek-Przygocki.”

“I said slower!”

“That was slower,” Al argues.

“That’s a real mouthful,” Alicia says.

“You’re telling me.”

They both grin, but Alicia’s eyes still gleam with tears. Al lifts her arm, and Alicia carefully lies down, resting her head on Al’s shoulder. Al’s arm closes around her, and Alicia forgets why Al asked her to get her camera in the first place. Alicia’s afraid to touch Al more than necessary even though the pain pills seem to be doing their job.

“You could use a shower,” Alicia says.

Al pinches her arm. “I would’ve loved to take one,” she says wryly. “I wonder why I didn’t.”

Alicia smiles and nestles closer to Al, daring to rest her arm on Al’s chest. Al’s lack of reaction is encouraging, and Alicia lets her body relax. It’s kind of strange, being this close to another person. Since Jake died, Alicia hasn’t really –

Alicia shuts down that train of thought. She doesn’t want to think about Jake. Or anyone she’s lost, for that matter.

“Teach me how to say your name,” Alicia murmurs.

Al chuckles. “Why?”

“It’ll give me something to do.”

“What? Lying here with me isn’t enough?”

Al’s teasing her, but Alicia flinches. “I just – I can’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

Maybe Al feels the way Alicia’s body tenses, even though she quickly forces herself to relax again. Al’s arm tightens around her nonetheless.

“About things I don’t want to think about,” Alicia answers.

“Things?”

Alicia hums. “Things. People.”

“You can sleep. If you want. You don’t have to stay up with me.”

“That won’t help,” Alicia mutters.

“You’ll see them if you sleep, too,” Al guesses. “The things. The people.”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

Alicia lifts her head, putting her weight on her good arm. She meets Al’s eyes, and Al’s lips twist into a gentle smirk.

“Don’t we all?” Al whispers.

“I’ve met some people who probably aren’t haunted by their dreams.”

“Me too,” Al agrees. She reaches up and brushes Alicia’s hair behind her ear. “But that’s not us, is it?”

Alicia’s eyebrows pull together. “You don’t strike me as the nightmare-having type.”

“I live in a van all by myself,” Al reminds. “It’s a great place to have nightmares, honestly.”

Alicia grins. “I don’t know how you’ve kept your sense of humor through everything.”

“It takes some practice.”

Alicia snorts. “Right.”

“It does,” Al protests. “When you do what I do – going out and bribing people to tell you their story – you gotta put them at ease, you know? Everyone could use a bit of laughter. Especially now.”

“You’re so weird.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Alicia hesitates. “Do you think – do you think if I hadn’t shot you that we’d be friends?”

Al laughs and shakes her head as Alicia frowns. “Hell no,” Al says. “I would’ve left your asses behind if you hadn’t incapacitated me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Al says. “That’s what I always do.”

“You run.”

“No,” Al says. “I don’t stay.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.”

Alicia doesn’t argue. She locks eyes with Al, and Al slowly starts to smile.

“What?” Alicia questions.

“Is it wrong of me to ask you to kiss me when I’m hopped up on pain pills again?”

“I mean, it’ll make me think you only like me when you’ve got drugs in your system.”

“The jury’s still out on whether or not I like you at all, drugs or no drugs,” Al jokes.

“Shut up,” Alicia says. “We’re in bed together.”

“Not by choice.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

Alicia opens her mouth to retort but cuts herself off. What’s the point? She’s just giving Al what she wants. Instead, Alicia moves her hand from Al’s chest up to her jaw and lowers herself enough to press her lips to Al’s. It’s not a comfortable position by far; Alicia would much rather be able to swing her leg across Al and straddle her, but that’s not an option in her current condition. Al smiles against Alicia’s lips as Alicia splays her fingers out behind Al’s ear.

Alicia’s shoulder aches, but she doesn’t care. Alicia loses all sense of time and doesn’t back down until Al’s hand presses against her bare stomach.

“You’re getting way too into this,” Al breathes. She grins and adds, “Considering I’m a drugged up mess.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, but if you keep going, you will,” Al laughs. She trails her fingertips across Alicia’s cheek. “Look at you. All flushed.”

“Shut up!”

Al laughs as Alicia slides back down beside her. “I’m sure I’d be all red in the face, too,” Al jokes, “if I had any blood to spare.”

“Just stop talking. Oh my God.”

They laugh together, and Alicia presses her palm flat against the center of Al’s chest. She’s surprised Al doesn’t make some inappropriate remark. Alicia leans her forehead against Al’s jaw. Laying on Al’s shoulder isn’t incredibly comfortable, but it’ll do. She doesn’t know how long they lie there in silence, but the sun hasn’t started to rise yet. Brody and Victor aren’t back. Everything’s quiet.

By the time someone speaks again, the sun’s beginning to rise.

“I graduated from the University of Texas at Austin,” Al says, so quietly Alicia has to strain to hear her. “My degree’s in journalism.”

Alicia, who’d been half asleep for the past few hours, is suddenly awake. She smiles against Al’s neck and mumbles, “I was going to Berkeley for English.”

“The end of the world spared you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	7. Fishing

Alicia hears Luciana get up and quickly rolls away from Al to her side of the bed. Moments later, the door opens. Alicia feigns sleep – and maybe Al does, too, or maybe Al has actually fallen back to sleep. After a brief pause, where Alicia assumes Luciana’s checking to make sure neither she nor Al has turned into a walker and killed the other, the door shuts quietly and Luciana walks off. Alicia’s not quite ready to talk to Luciana about whatever’s going on between her and Al – if there’s anything going on. And that’s exactly why Alicia doesn’t want to talk about it.

Alicia waits a half hour. Al’s definitely asleep again. The pain in Alicia’s shoulder has dulled, but it’s persistent, so she finally forces herself to get up. Maybe Luciana has ibuprofen somewhere. Maybe ibuprofen will work. Alicia’s eyes flick toward the hydrocodone, but she doesn’t allow herself to consider that as an option. Besides, Al needs the pills that are left.

Alicia slips out of the bedroom and realizes maybe she should button her shirt. She does that swiftly and joins Luciana in the kitchen, walking loudly enough to alert Luciana long before she arrives.

“Luci,” Alicia yawns.

“Alicia.”

“What’re you doing?”

Luciana pauses and smiles over her shoulder at Alicia. “Looking for something for breakfast.”

“Most of it’s out in the van,” Alicia reminds.

Luciana nods. “Yes, I know, but I didn’t want to go out there while you and Al were asleep.”

“Why?” Alicia says. “If Dorie was going to escape, he would’ve done it by now.”

“He’s only part of the problem,” Luciana says gently. “If a rogue walker got me, I’d leave you two practically defenseless.”

Alicia flinches. “I’m not defenseless. It’s just –”

“Your shoulder, which means your whole right arm, which is your dominant side,” Luciana says smugly. “Good luck killing something left-handed.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Just go out to the van and get something for breakfast. I’ll make sure our hostage is still kicking.”

“Don’t go unarmed.”

“I thought you just said I’m defenseless,” Alicia retorts.

Luciana shakes her head. “If you need a weapon to check on John, then it’s already too late.”

Alicia blinks but retrieves one of the Berettas and pulls the basement door open. She takes a moment to listen, but there’s nothing to hear. Quietly, she descends the flight of stairs into the basement. She hits the bottom, and John Dorie’s figure comes into view. He’s slumped down on the concrete floor, hat pulled over his face, and his left hand is handcuffed to a pole, holding his arm above his head. Frankly, it’s kind of ridiculous.

He stirs as Alicia approaches, Beretta gripped tightly in her left hand. John lifts his hat with his free hand and plops it on top of his head.

“Oh, it’s you,” John exhales.

“You’re happy about that?”

John actually smiles. “Better you than that other fellow. Strand, is it?”

“What’s wrong with Strand?” Alicia asks flatly.

“He’s a little rough.”

“And I’m not?”

John holds up his free hand in surrender. “It’s just nice to see a new face, is all.”

Alicia hums. “Sure,” she says. “You’re lucky. I’m just here to make sure you didn’t become a walker overnight.” Alicia’s eyes hone in on John’s wrist, rubbed raw by the handcuff. Probably because he was fighting against it. “For good reason, apparently,” Alicia adds. “You don’t want that to get infected.”

“And what can I do about that?” John questions.

“Nothing. Not now. Maybe once we’ve got your girlfriend –”

“You won’t get her,” John insists. “She’s smarter than that.”

“She’ll come for you,” Alicia says.

“And then what?” John asks. “Then what happens?”

“Then she’s going to fix our friend,” Alicia says.

“And if she refuses?”

Alicia smiles. “You better hope she doesn’t, Johnny. For your own sake.”

John stares at Alicia in confusion before she heads back upstairs. Luciana’s back in the kitchen, and she says something about feeding John and Al that Alicia barely hears.

“Here,” Luciana says, shoving a bowl filled with canned fruit, drained of the juice, into Alicia’s hands. “Take this to John. But be careful. He threw his dinner back at Victor.”

“That’s because Victor was being rough with him,” Alicia says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be careful.”

“Hopefully Victor and Brody will be back soon,” Luciana says. “And we can take care of Al.”

“They’ll be back,” Alicia assures Luciana. “Just try to get her to eat something.”

“Oh, I’ll get her to eat something,” Luciana replies. “Hey, while you’re down there, maybe warn John that if he throws this meal away, he won’t get another one.”

“Got it.”

“And Alicia?”

Alicia pauses. “Hmm?”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine,” Alicia dismisses. “But if there’s ibuprofen around here somewhere –”

“It’s in the medicine bag,” Luciana says.

Alicia nods and returns to the basement. “Jonathan,” she calls out, even though she has no way of knowing if John Dorie actually has a full first name. “Breakfast. And Luciana said if you throw this meal away, you don’t get another one. So maybe try eating it this time, okay?”

John takes the bowl from Alicia and doesn’t throw its contents back at her. Alicia considers that a win. She’s halfway to the stairs when John says, “Thank you.”

Alicia turns back and shrugs. She leaves John down in the basement so she can go find the ibuprofen and eat breakfast herself. Her stomach grumbles as a reminder, so she eats first and swallows ibuprofen after, chugging down a Gatorade that might have expired. She doesn’t bother to check.

Alicia hears laughter from the master bedroom and makes her way over. She lingers in the doorway for a few seconds before either Luciana or Al notices her. Luciana’s seated on the bed beside Al, holding a fork with a peach speared on the end. Luciana and Al both laugh, and Al tries to push the fork away when Luciana holds it out.

Alicia clears her throat, mildly startling them both. “Having fun?” Alicia jokes.

“I told you I’d make her eat,” Luciana says. “I’m trying.”

“And failing,” Al says.

“I won’t fail,” Luciana boasts. “Now eat the damn peach before I really have to make you.”

Al grins and swats the fork away once more. Luciana shakes her head and eats the peach herself, stabbing a pear instead. Al takes the fork from Luciana and says, “I can feed myself, thanks.”

“So it’s just peaches,” Luciana mutters.

“You live and you learn,” Al says once she swallows the pear. She hands the fork back and smiles at Alicia. Alicia’s about to speak when something stops her. A door slams. Alicia turns back, looking toward the front of the cabin.

“They’re back,” Alicia says.

“Wait,” Luciana calls. “You should take over for me. I can go meet them.”

“I got it,” Alicia says. She holds the Beretta in her left hand and rushes to the front door. She flings it open just as Brody and Victor drag their captive out of the backseat. They lift June clear out of the truck and set her on the ground. June’s hands are bound behind her back, and she’s blindfolded with a handkerchief. Alicia steps out onto the porch and shoves the Beretta into her waistband.

“I told you we got this,” Victor says, grinning. He guides June toward the front door with Brody’s help.

“No problems?” Alicia asks. She shifts her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

“Minor problems,” Brody says.

“Minor problems?” Alicia questions.

Brody and Victor lift June up the steps and onto the porch. Brody pauses to lift his shirt and show Alicia the bruise forming on his stomach.

“Minor problems,” Brody confirms. He winks at Alicia then helps Victor get June inside. But June isn’t fighting against them. Not anymore. There isn’t much she can do. Not with her hands bound behind her back; not while blindfolded. Alicia follows them inside, pulling the door shut behind her.

“You said you have John,” June says.

“We do,” Alicia says.

“I want to see him.”

“You’re not really in a position to be making demands, lady,” Victor says.

“I won’t do anything until I know he’s alive!”

Victor looks to Alicia. Luciana emerges from the master bedroom but lingers in the doorway. Alicia nods to Victor.

“Let her see him,” Alicia agrees. Alicia reaches up and yanks the handkerchief from June’s eyes. June squints against the sudden onslaught of light, but then her eyes focus on Alicia’s face. Alicia purses her lips, glaring back. “You see him,” Alicia says, “and then you help Al. You do anything to hurt her – if you step out of line _in any way_ – I will personally gut you and your boyfriend. Understood?”

June blinks. “I understand.”

“Good,” Alicia spits.

“If you’ve hurt John –”

“He’s fine,” Alicia cuts in. “Go see for yourself.”

“Come on,” Victor says, yanking June along.

“Need a hand?” Brody asks.

“I got this,” Victor assures him. “But when we come back, you and I are going to finish our conversation about that fishing spot.”

Brody grins, rubbing at his beard. “Sounds like a plan.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. She takes the backpack of medical supplies into the master bedroom, stepping around Luciana. “She’ll be here soon,” Alicia tells Al. “She’s checking on John.”

“Of course,” Al grunts.

“The pain’s coming back.”

“The pain’s been back,” Al corrects. “But we’re running low on pills. And I don’t think any amount of pain pills will save me from what June’s going to have to do.”

Alicia presses her lips together and tries not to look like she’s pitying Al. “I’m sorry.”

Al waves her off. “It’s not like we have anesthesia at our fingertips. And it’s not like June’s a surgeon. She probably wouldn’t even know what to do if we did have anesthesia.”

“She’s our best bet,” Alicia reminds. “Just try to relax, okay?”

Al musters up a smile. “I’m relaxed.”

“You aren’t.”

Al exhales heavily. “Can you stay?”

Alicia nods. “Of course.”

Alicia walks over to Al’s side of the bed and holds her hand out. Al doesn’t hesitate to take it. She exhales slowly and closes her eyes, and Alicia holds on tighter.

“If she kills me –” Al says.

“She won’t,” Alicia interjects.

“If she does,” Al continues. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Get your tapes into the right hands. Don’t let you be one of those monsters. I know.”

“No,” Al says. “Something else.”

“What?” Alicia asks quietly.

“There’s a tape,” Al whispers. “It’s labeled _The Bog #7_. I need you to keep it safe.”

Alicia’s eyebrows pull together. “Just that one?”

“Just that one,” Al agrees. “I mean, keep the Amina one, too. If you want it. But I need you to keep that – that one tape for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Alicia says. “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” Alicia hesitates. “Can I ask…what’s on it?”

Al’s quiet for a long time. Her eyes stay shut. As they hear footsteps outside of the room, Al finally admits, “It’s all I have left of my brother.”

Alicia doesn’t get a chance to reply. The door opens, and Luciana steps in with June on her heels, being led by Victor and Brody.

“What happened?” June asks sharply.

“What?” Alicia says.

“What happened to her?” June asks.

“I shot her,” Alicia says. “By mistake.”

“Aiming for someone else?” June guesses. Alicia nods. “Great. So what’s been done?” At Alicia’s dumbfounded look, June sighs and explains, “Tell me everything you’ve done to treat her. Everything that’s happened since she was first shot.”

“Oh,” Alicia says. She recounts everything. Stopping the bleeding. Stitching it. Al busting the stitches. Alicia’s repair. Al busting them _again_. The blood transfusion. All the way up to the duct tape abomination that her stomach currently is. June nods, never interrupting.

“So I need to remove old stitches,” June says. “Clean the wound. Stitch it shut again.”

“And make sure there’s no infection,” Alicia says. “For both the entrance and exit wound.”

“Yes,” June agrees. She turns her back toward Alicia and wiggles her fingers. “I can’t do anything until you free my hands. I kind of need them to work.”

“Cut her loose,” Alicia orders Victor or Brody. One of them. She doesn’t care who. Brody’s the one who frees a knife from his belt and cuts through June’s bindings. “One wrong move,” Alicia reminds. She doesn’t bother to finish the threat when June nods emphatically. June first heads into the master bathroom and washes her hands thoroughly. She comes back into the bedroom and goes for the backpack of supplies.

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to jeopardize John’s safety by intentionally killing her?” June asks.

“Maybe,” Alicia says.

June shoots her a glare. “I barely know her,” June points out. “I have no reason to try to kill her, especially when I’m surrounded by all of you.”

Alicia looks to Victor and Luciana and jerks her head toward the door. Luciana chews on her lower lip, but she follows Victor out to give June some space. Brody shuts the door behind them and stands in front of it, crossing his arms over his chest so his large biceps are more pronounced. June’s not getting out of this room without permission unless she throws herself through the damn window.

“Better?” Alicia asks.

“Much,” June says wryly. “Just stay out of my way, okay?”

“I’m out of the way,” Alicia insists. She shifts back more toward the wall, though, bringing Al’s hand with her. June pushes Al’s shirt open and sighs. She works on peeling away the duct tape, and Alicia can’t help but watch. “If you need an extra hand –” Alicia begins to offer.

“I’ll let you know,” June says. “Until then, stay quiet and hold her hand. It’s going to hurt.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Al groans. June finishes peeling off the duct tape and drops it to the floor. She starts removing the gauze from the wound, ignoring Brody’s complaints about tossing blood soaked gauze on his floor.

“So?” Alicia prompts.

“There’s no obvious infection,” June says. “You’re damn lucky, but she should go on an antibiotic anyway. I saw you guys have some suitable options here. Amoxicillin. Doxycycline. Clindamycin.”

“You’ll write it down for us later,” Alicia says. “What to give her. When. How much.”

June’s eyes flick over to her. “Sure,” she says. “Just remind me.”

“I will,” Alicia says.

“Ease up on my hand,” Al says.

“Sorry,” Alicia replies, loosening her grip.

“Al?” June says.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to start removing the stitches. It might take a while, but I need you to stay as still as you can, okay?”

“Got it.”

“I mean it,” June says sternly. “It could hurt. The wound hasn’t gotten a chance to start healing properly. But you have to stay still no matter what.”

“Yeah, doc, I got it.”

June smiles slightly. “I’m not a doctor.”

Al grimaces. “You’re close enough. Just get on with it, yeah?”

June nods. Alicia drops a hand to Al’s forehead, watching her jaw clench and unclench. June gets to work, undoing Alicia’s hack job stitching. That’s probably what makes it painful. Alicia didn’t do it right in the first place. Or maybe she did. June doesn’t say anything about it. Al tries hard to conceal any pain she feels, though, squeezing Alicia’s hand tightly.

“You’re doing great,” June says. “We’re almost there.”

Not really. June gets the stitches out, but she goes for the bottle of antiseptic. She looks at Al almost apologetically and doesn’t warn her before getting started. Alicia isn’t prepared for the first scream, and she jumps, her heart racing in her throat. June speaks encouraging words that get lost in Al’s yelling, which starts out wordless but quickly switches to very colorful profanity.

Alicia clutches onto Al’s hand with both of her own, flinching each time Al’s yelling gets louder. June is thorough, though, and it seems like forever before she finishes and prepares to stitch the wound shut once more.

“Can you hurry?” Alicia hisses.

“No,” June replies. “Not if you want my best work.”

Alicia growls. “Don’t drag it out.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” June questions.

“I don’t know what you’re doing besides causing her a lot of pain.”

“Necessary pain,” June says. “The wound’s tender. It’s been stitched twice, ripped open twice. Just touching it will hurt her. If you can’t handle it –”

“I’m fine,” Alicia snaps.

“Okay,” June says, though she sends a doubtful look toward Brody, still posted at the door. “If you say so.” June pats Al’s leg. “You ready?”

“Just get it over with, man.”

June nods stiffly. She picks up the needle. “Hold still,” she reminds.

“I know,” Al breathes. Sweat beads on her forehead. Her jaw’s clenched again even though June hasn’t touched her yet. Alicia’s starting to feel lightheaded. She looks to Brody, but his face is expressionless. His job is just to guard the door, make sure June doesn’t make a run for it. Not that Victor would let her get far.

June starts the stitches. Al’s grip on Alicia’s hand tightens, but she manages to stay still as June works. Al bares her teeth, trying and failing to suppress her sounds of pain. Alicia’s hands would be trembling if she wasn’t holding onto Al’s hand so tightly.

“Can you hurry up?” Alicia says.

“No,” June says. She glances over at Alicia. “I’m trying to ensure these won’t need to be done a fourth time.”

“You’re not even –”

“You’re the one that shot her in the first place,” June says harshly. “Now be quiet, or get out. You’re distracting me.”

“Alicia,” Al says through her teeth. Alicia’s eyes lock with Al’s, and Alicia flinches. “It’s okay,” Al says.

“It’s _not_ ,” Alicia whispers. “I did this.”

“Yeah,” Al agrees. “But that doesn’t matter now. It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

Al screams in response, and Alicia’s head whips around. She stares bug-eyed at June, but June keeps pushing through, stitching steadily.

“What did you do?” Alicia shouts over Al’s screaming.

“Alicia,” June warns.

“No, you’re doing something _wrong_ –”

“Get out!” June snaps. “Now! Before you mess me up.”

Alicia looks to Brody for backup, but he fucking _nods_. “Come on,” Brody says. “I’ll watch her.”

“Go,” Al says, detangling her hand from Alicia’s. “I’ll be fine.”

She’s lying. Alicia can see it in her eyes. She’s fucking lying. Alicia makes her way around the bed and grabs Al’s camera and the tapes. Al doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop her, and Alicia passes by Brody.

“What’s going on?” Luciana immediately asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m distracting June,” Alicia says shakily. “Go in there. Please.”

Luciana nods, briefly grasping Alicia’s shoulder before slipping into the master bedroom. The door doesn’t do much to muffle Al’s screaming, and Victor quickly abandons his spot at the kitchen table to join the group in the bedroom.

“Just in case,” Victor tells her, but Alicia figures he either wants to give her space or he wants to be around Brody – or maybe both. Whatever his reasoning, Alicia waves him off and curls up in the armchair with the camera and the box of tapes. She rummages through the tapes, carefully reading each label, including _Amina_. Eventually, she finds it.

_The Bog #7._

Sounds ominous but gives nothing about its contents away. But if it’s all Al has left of her brother –

God, Alicia really knows nothing about this woman. But Alicia flinches like she’s been smacked every time Al screams, and her heart hasn’t stopped pounding in her chest, and she sort of feels like she could throw up.

Alicia pops the tape into the camera. She has no idea what to expect, but she certainly doesn’t expect to see Al’s face appear. She turns the volume up and swallows hard. She holds the camera gingerly, like it’s going to bite her or something.

Al’s holed up somewhere – in a house, maybe? It’d make sense. There’s a wall behind her, a window to the right. The gunfire in the background is near constant, and Al narrates, in a hushed voice, something about the National Guard and Army firing at each other. In the streets. Alicia doesn’t know where. Maybe she should ask. But maybe Al won’t want to tell her.

Then Al – the Al on the screen, since the current, real life Al continues to scream in the master bedroom – apologizes to the camera, to Jesse, for not staying. Alicia assumes Jesse is Al’s brother, and she figures Jesse’s dead, if this tape is all Al has left of him. Alicia hits pause, exhaling heavily. She shuts the camera off but takes the tape out of it. Her hands really tremble now. She manages to get the tape back into its case and tucks it into the breast pocket of her flannel shirt.

Al’s screaming dies down. The bedroom door opens, and Alicia scrambles out of the armchair to meet Victor at the door.

“What’s happening?” Alicia demands.

“Nothing,” Victor answers. “June’s finished the stitches. She’s just checking the exit wound.”

“The exit wound looks fine,” June informs. “You actually did a decent job stitching it shut. They’ll just need to be removed in another week or so, depending on how it’s looking.”

Alicia steps around Victor back into the bedroom, wringing her hands. Luciana’s seated on the bed beside Al, holding Al’s hand in both of her own. Al is…well, Al’s alive. And conscious. Really sweaty, but June presses a clean bandage over her handiwork on the entrance wound and nods to herself.

“Get me a pen and something to write on,” June says. “I’ll write down everything you need to do, everything you need to give her.”

“I’ve got it,” Victor volunteers.

June goes to wash her hands, and Alicia makes her way to Al’s bedside. “You okay?” Alicia asks quietly.

“Oh, yeah,” Al breathes. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Al cracks a weary smile, and Alicia shakes her head, fighting a smile of her own. “You’re unbelievable,” Alicia murmurs.

“I think that’s a compliment, right?” Al says.

“If that’s how you want to take it.”

Victor returns with a pen and a pad of paper, and June scrawls down instructions. Alicia makes sure she can read June’s writing before she accepts the paper. She folds it and places it in her shirt pocket with the tape.

“One more thing,” Luciana says. “Alicia’s shoulder.”

Alicia hesitates. “My shoulder is fine.”

“Please just check it,” Luciana tells June.

Alicia concedes and lets June examine the graze wound. June tells Alicia what she expects to hear. It’s healing fine.

“I’ve done everything I can,” June informs. “For both of you. Just promise me no more duct tape, okay?”

“Deal,” Alicia mutters.

June puts her hands on her hips. Brody’s large body still blocks the door. Victor flanks him, arms crossed over his chest, and June looks from the two men over to Alicia. “So,” June says. “I think it’s time we talked about what happens now.”

“Yeah,” Alicia agrees. “Now’s the time.”

“I held up my end of the bargain,” June points out. “I treated Al. And you. Now you give me John, and we go. No trouble.”

Alicia inhales. Her eyes flick toward Luciana on the bed then Victor at the door. “I want to see how she does,” Alicia decides. June’s eyes widen. “Take her downstairs with John,” Alicia orders. “We’ll reevaluate in the morning.”

“The deal,” June says sharply, “was I help you, and you give me John.”

“The deal was we release John after you help Al,” Alicia says. “We never said anything about what we’d do with you.”

“No,” June argues. “No, it’s you release John to me –”

“I never said that,” Alicia says calmly. “Take her downstairs.”

Brody and Victor twist June’s arms behind her back and haul her to the basement. Even though she struggles, she’s no match for Brody and Victor. Mainly Brody, but Victor helps.

“Alicia,” Luciana says. “Maybe we should just let them go.”

“You trust them not to kill us?” Alicia questions.

“Yes,” Luciana says. “They want to leave. We should let them.”

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” Alicia dismisses. “I want to make sure Al does alright.”

“I feel better now,” Al says. “I mean, given the circumstances.”

“You took more pills,” Alicia guesses.

“Yeah,” Al says. “And now June’s fingers aren’t poking at me.”

“We’re almost out,” Luciana says. “Of pain pills. Of the good stuff, at least.”

“We can find more if we have to,” Alicia says.

“Brody said he cleared out the pharmacy long ago,” Luciana reminds.

“Then we’ll go somewhere else,” Alicia snaps. “We’ll find what we need. And we’re going to start Al on antibiotics soon.”

Luciana nods but presses her lips together. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” Luciana says. “Not without consulting me and Victor first.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” Alicia assures her. “June can spend the night downstairs with John, and we’ll decide what to do – where to _go_ – in the morning.”

“Okay,” Luciana agrees. “Are you going to stay with her again tonight?”

“I can,” Alicia says.

“Don’t let me be a burden,” Al jokes.

Alicia’s eyes narrow. “I want to,” she insists. “But for now, you need to rest. I’ll come back tonight.”

“She’s right,” Luciana says. She releases Al’s hand and gets off the bed. “We have some things to sort out,” Luciana says.

Alicia nods. She leads the way out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Alicia and Luciana meet up with Victor and Brody in the kitchen, and Alicia checks the time. It’s barely afternoon. It feels so much later. Like it should be night already.

“So,” Victor says, breaking the silence. “What are we doing with our hostages?”

“We could blindfold them,” Brody suggests. “Drive them far out. Drop them and take off.”

“That’s a good idea,” Luciana says. “Victor?”

Victor pauses. “I agree,” he says slowly. “But I also agree with Alicia. We should wait at least until tomorrow. Make sure there are no complications with Al.”

Alicia frowns. They’re all staring at her, though, waiting for her input. Her decision. “Okay,” she says. “Once we’re sure Al’s good, we’ll drop John and June somewhere far.”

Luciana’s eyes linger on Alicia’s face, but Alicia controls her expression carefully. “And then we leave?” Luciana questions.

“As much as I’d love to live the rest of the apocalypse out in Brody’s lovely home,” Alicia says, “I think we should move on.”

“Me too,” Luciana says. Alicia and Luciana look to Victor. He has the nerve to look surprised.

“You guys want to leave?” Victor asks. “What’s wrong with our setup here?”

“You really need me to make a list?” Alicia says.

“Yes.”

Alicia shakes her head. “There’s just some bad memories.” Her eyes drop to the floor where she’d managed to pull off the blood transfusion. The floor’s permanently stained with blood, mostly Al’s blood. “If you want to stay,” Alicia says, “I mean, we can’t stop you.”

“I really think this is our new home,” Victor says.

Alicia snorts, and Luciana busts out laughing. “You’re so full of shit,” Alicia snickers.

“Brody, if you want to come with us, you’re more than welcome,” Luciana offers. “I bet if you say yes, Victor will come, too.”

Victor glares at Luciana while Alicia stifles her laughter with her hand. Luciana grins as Victor splutters for a few moments before going silent.

“You know,” Brody says, scratching at the back of his neck, “I think I’m ready to get back out there. I was telling Victor about this great fishing spot –”

“And you can keep telling him about it,” Alicia says quickly. “I’m sure it’s very interesting.”

“Nice save,” Luciana whispers as she joins Alicia in the living room. Victor and Brody carry the fishing conversation on at the kitchen table over mugs of coffee. Alicia stretches out on the couch, and Luciana drops into the armchair, yawning.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Alicia asks.

“Did you?” Luciana retorts.

“I barely slept,” Alicia admits. “I was up with Al most of the night.”

“Every little noise I heard woke me up,” Luciana says. “I kept thinking it with either Victor returning or John escaping.”

“I’m sorry,” Alicia says. “If you want, I can sleep out here –”

“No, no,” Luciana cuts in. “No, you should stay with Al. She wants you with her more than she wants me. But the guest room is mine. Victor and Brody can spend the night out here.”

Alicia makes a face. “Maybe we should separate them.”

They both laugh loudly in the kitchen. Victor bangs his hand on the table, and Alicia figures whatever Brody said couldn’t have been _that_ funny.

Luciana smiles. “Let them live a little. We all deserve a chance at happiness.”

“Victor’s over there trying to charm the pants off of Brody,” Alicia says.

“Hopefully not literally,” Luciana jokes.

“Don’t even go there,” Alicia warns.

“Please,” Luciana scoffs. “As if Al hasn’t been trying to charm the pants off of _you_ since you first shot her.”

Alicia’s cheeks redden. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“Oh? So I’m just imagining whatever’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Alicia says.

Luciana hums. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Well, you won’t see anything.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to nap,” Alicia announces.

“Good,” Luciana says. “We’ll pick this conversation back up when you wake up.”

“No!”

Luciana laughs. “Sleep,” she tells Alicia. “I’ll check in on Al and wake you when dinner’s ready.”

“Yeah.”

True to her word, Luciana wakes Alicia for dinner. Alicia groans, rolling off the couch to her feet, and tests out her shoulder. There’s still pain, but it’s not as bad as before.

“How’s Al?” Alicia asks.

Luciana grins. “She’s good,” Luciana says. “She’s been sleeping this whole time.”

“She needs to eat,” Alicia says. “And drink water. Take antibiotics.”

“We’ll handle it,” Luciana assures her. “You need to eat, too.”

Alicia’s really not that hungry, but she eats anyway. It’s strange, not having to worry about her next meal. At least for now. Victor and Brody chatter nonstop through dinner, about anything and everything. Fishing. Brody’s job as a crab fisherman. Victor even offers up pieces of his past. Back to fishing. They actually begin to plan a fishing trip. Alicia can’t fathom how they can be thinking about something so…mundane. As nice as fresh fish sounds, Alicia thinks they’ve got bigger problems.

“I’ll take care of Al,” Alicia says when she’s finished eating. “Someone should keep watch.”

“We’ll be up,” Victor says.

“We?”

“I’m in the guest room,” Luciana says quickly. She pats Alicia on the shoulder. “Maybe don’t leave the bedroom until morning.”

Alicia makes a face, grabs dinner for Al, and rushes out of there. She closes the bedroom door and punches the lock for good measure. Al’s still passed out, looking like she’s getting the best sleep of her life. Alicia ensures she has everything she needs – dinner and water for Al, the antibiotics and pain pills, the Beretta and switchblade. Alicia gently lowers herself onto the bed beside Al and leans back against the headboard. She can’t bring herself to disturb Al yet. Not when she looks so peaceful.

It’s okay. Alicia can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I might wrap this up soon. I'm aiming for a total of 10 chapters, so three more after this one. After this, I'm looking at the Al/Isabelle project and probably another Crash prequel. And who knows what kind of inspiration season 5b will bring me.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me. I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!


	8. Family

Alicia jolts awake, momentarily unsure of where she is. Her eyes land on the bear lamp, and her mind tells her _bedroom, Brody’s cabin. You’re safe_. Al jabs Alicia in the thigh again, and Alicia straightens out her back, pushing herself away from the headboard.

“I fell asleep?” she mumbles.

“I guess,” Al says. “Sorry to ruin your nap, but I’m starving.”

Alicia passes her the bowl and fully wakes up while Al scarfs down the food. She hands Al the antibiotics and a bottle of water when she’s done, and thankfully, Al doesn’t argue.

“You’re feeling better,” Alicia comments.

“It’s the pain pills,” Al dismisses. “And I got some decent sleep, actually.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, but you know what’s _not_ good? I really need to pee.”

Alicia sighs. “Can you walk on your own without hurting yourself?”

“Oh, yeah,” Al says. “It’ll just take, like, five minutes.”

“Then it takes five minutes,” Alicia says. “What? You got somewhere to be?”

Al grins. “You’re funny.”

“Just be careful,” Alicia warns.

“I’ll be careful,” Al says. “Don’t worry.”

Alicia worries the entire time it takes Al to get to the bathroom, do her business, and return. But she shows no sign of pain, and when Alicia insists on checking the stitches, Al doesn’t resist. They’re perfectly fine, so Alicia feels a little stupid when she presses the bandage back down. It seems like June did a much better job than Alicia had. Which is a good thing; June knows her shit.

Alicia’s eyes linger on Al’s stomach a little too long, prompting Al to ask, “You okay?”

“Not really,” Alicia admits, finally tearing her eyes away to meet Al’s gaze.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Al exhales heavily. “It’ll all be over soon,” Al says.

Alicia’s eyebrows raise. “What?”

“John and June will be gone. We’ll leave. I’ll heal. We can start over.”

“Oh.”

“What?” Al questions.

Alicia shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know how to start over. Not without…”

“Without what?”

Alicia’s jaw clenches. “Without finishing what I started after my mom died.”

Al stays quiet for a while. Alicia lowers herself down on the bed next to Al. Her shoulder still hurts a bit, but not so much that Alicia can’t push it to the back of her mind.

“I watched the tape,” Alicia informs. She starts to pull _The Bog #7_ from her shirt pocket, but Al reaches over and gently pushes the tape back into Alicia’s pocket.

“Yeah?” Al murmurs. Her eyes close. She breathes shallowly through her nose, and Alicia grasps onto Al’s arm in a way she hopes is comforting.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A smile flickers on Al’s face. “No.”

“Can we talk about it anyway?”

Al sighs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“I mean…what happened?”

Al’s eyes open. Alicia raises her eyebrows and waits as Al grits her teeth. “Let me put it this way,” Al says. “I chased a story, and my brother died because of it.” Al purses her lips together then presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I chose a story over my own fucking brother.”

“How could you know?” Alicia asks quietly. “I mean, you couldn’t, right? You couldn’t know you were choosing the story over him.”

Al lowers her hands, and Alicia’s surprised to see tears shining in Al’s eyes. None fall. “I didn’t know?” Al whispers. “Please. I knew shit wasn’t right. Things were going bad quickly. Instead of grabbing the people I loved and running, I went straight into the bad shit. I really couldn’t be surprised that my brother died, could I? Maybe I didn’t know the specifics, but I knew nothing like this had ever happened. I knew people – lots of people – were dying or going to die. I made my choice, Alicia. And I get to live with it.”

Alicia doesn’t know what to say to that. So she just hangs onto Al’s arm while Al composes herself.

“We all make bad decisions,” Alicia says after minutes pass in silence. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I can name a few – well, a lot – of times I made really bad decisions.”

“I know plenty,” Al says. “I talk to a lot of people, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Lots of people have done worse than me,” Al says. “It doesn’t really make me feel better about my own choices.”

Alicia smirks. “You know, once when I was, like, ten, I drove my dad’s car into the kitchen.”

Al laughs incredulously. “What?”

“Yeah,” Alicia says, fighting a smile. “I was playing behind the wheel, and Nick stole the keys off the little hook by the door and started the engine. He even put it in drive for me. All I had to do was push the accelerator, and you bet your ass I did. I drove straight into the kitchen.”

“I bet your parents were thrilled,” Al chuckles.

“It’s a miracle my mother didn’t kill me on the spot.”

“You weren’t hurt?”

“Nope,” Alicia confirms. “No one was hurt. I was wearing my seatbelt.”

“No one was supervising you, huh?”

Alicia smiles sadly. “My parents had other things on their minds. They weren’t always the greatest at, you know, being there for me. Especially after Nick –” Alicia cuts herself off.

“After Nick what?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, now we aren’t sharing?”

Alicia glares at Al. “After Nick developed a nasty heroin addiction. All my mom’s energy went into making sure he didn’t die.”

Al’s expression darkens. “Heroin?”

“Heroin.” Alicia smiles wryly. “But his familiarity with drugs really paid off once the world ended.”

“I bet.”

Alicia drops her forehead down onto Al’s shoulder. “I miss him,” Alicia admits. “All the time. Just like I miss my mom.”

There’s a brief pause before Al asks quietly, “Can I ask you something personal?”

“I thought we were getting personal already.”

“Did killing Charlie really make you feel better about Nick?”

Alicia inhales deeply and seriously considers the question for a few moments. “Yeah,” she finally says. “It did, actually.”

“Even now?”

“Even now. But there’s one thing stopping me from – from feeling _right_ again.”

“Which is?”

“She’s in the basement with John Dorie.”

“So not a thing,” Al points out. “A person.”

“The person that probably saved your life.”

Al grins lopsidedly. “She saved my life. But what does that matter? I’m just a woman you accidentally shot in a firefight I had no reason to be part of.”

“Shut up,” Alicia grumbles. “We’ve kissed, and we’ve slept together.”

“Not the good kind of sleeping together, though.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Take what you can get.”

“I’m not complaining.”

They settle into a comfortable silence, but Alicia’s mind races. Her thoughts range from her family – both before and after the dead started to walk – to the fall of the baseball stadium to Al. She even, at one point, thinks back to Jake. He was the last person that really made her feel alive, but the ranch feels like it happened in a different lifetime. It’s like she’s a whole different person now.

“I had a boyfriend,” Alicia says. “Not too long ago, I guess. It kind of feels like it was forever ago, though. And I guess I never really talked to him about whether or not he was actually my boyfriend, but it feels like he was my boyfriend.”

“What do you mean _not too long ago_?” Al questions.

“After the dead started walking.”

“Ah.”

“But I had a boyfriend when I was set to go to Berkeley,” Alicia says. “It didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“He died.”

“Right.”

“And so did my other boyfriend,” Alicia says. “Jake.”

“Jake.”

It’s strange, hearing Al say his name. Alicia nods against Al’s shoulder. “He still valued, like, artsy things. Literature. Poetry. Things we don’t really have time for now.”

“He sounds like a nice guy.”

“The nice guys always die, don’t they?” Alicia mumbles.

“Brody’s alive,” Al says. When Alicia looks up at her, Al smiles. “He’s pretty nice, if you ask me.”

“Victor seems to think so.”

Al laughs. “Poor Luci. Her two friends are both trying to shack up with someone.”

Alicia’s face flushes. “You think I’m trying to shack up with you?”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

“You’re – you’re so arrogant!” Alicia splutters.

“But am I right?” When Alicia doesn’t answer, Al laughs. “I am.”

“Shut up!”

“Is that why you’re giving me a history of your dating life?” Al asks. “Were you planning to segue into the whole _I like you do you like me_ thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Al reaches over and grazes the back of her fingers across Alicia’s reddened cheek. “There’s no reason to get so worked up. I like you. I thought it was obvious.”

“I thought you said I’m oblivious.”

“You are _so_ oblivious,” Al laughs. “Jesus. It’s either that or you’re unnecessarily insecure.”

Alicia flinches. “Maybe I’m just afraid.”

“Of what?”

Alicia’s fingers dig into Al’s arm so hard that Al winces and pries Alicia’s fingers off. “Of losing you, too. Just like I’ve lost everyone else.” Alicia sighs. “Leave it to me to fall for the person I almost shoot dead.”

“You have great taste.” When the joke falls flat, Al gets more serious. “Hey, look. We don’t have to slap a label on anything. We can just…like each other. And whatever happens, happens.”

Alicia nods. “There’s just one problem.”

“What is it?”

Alicia clears her throat. “I know I promised, but I won’t be able to kill you if it comes down to it. I can’t do it.”

Al nods. “It’s okay. Things were different when I had you make that promise. Just promise me now that you’ll take care of my tapes.”

“I promise.”

“Luci or Victor can – they can handle the rest,” Al says. “If it really comes down to it…I’ll make sure it’s handled, okay?”

“Okay,” Alicia agrees.

They don’t talk much more after that. Al falls asleep, and Alicia lies at Al’s side with Al’s arm around her, unmoving so she doesn’t disturb Al. But Alicia can’t sleep. Her mind won’t shut off. She rolls out of bed just after sunrise, tiptoeing out into the hall. She glances toward the living room before she remembers Victor and Brody spent the night there, but thankfully, there’s nothing amiss. Even though the couch is a perfectly viable option, Victor’s passed out on the floor on top of a sleeping bag, and he’s snoring the way he always does: loudly. Brody, meanwhile, is buried in a second sleeping bag laid out beside Victor’s. The only thing Alicia can see is the back of Brody’s head.

Alicia creeps down the hall to the guest bedroom and cracks the door open, peering inside. Luciana’s hidden beneath the covers somewhere in the middle of the bed, and Alicia slips inside and shuts the door quietly. She hesitates, not wanting to accidentally scare the shit out of Luciana.

“Luci,” Alicia hisses. She tentatively reaches over to the lump in the middle of the bed and grabs onto what she hopes is Luciana’s arm. “Luci! Wake up!”

Luciana jolts awake, grunting, and rolls around until she faces Alicia. “Alicia?” Luciana mumbles. “What’s going on?”

“The sun’s up.”

Luciana blinks, wearing a dumbfounded look. “And you’re up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Luciana sighs and scoots over, patting the empty space beside her. Alicia gratefully slides into the bed beside Luciana as Luciana rubs at her eyes. Luciana checks the time and moans, “It’s _so_ early.”

“I didn’t think I should wake Al up. Since I shot her and all.”

“Let her sleep,” Luciana agrees. “I’ll stay up.”

“You don’t have to,” Alicia says. “I just – every time I look at Al, I think about how I –”

“I get it,” Luciana says. “You just need a change of scenery.”

Alicia manages a smile. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“But Al is doing well, right?”

“Yeah,” Alicia says. “June, uh, June did a good job with the stitches.”

“I knew she would.” Luciana pauses. “If you don’t want to be part of the drop off, I understand. I’m sure Victor and Brody can handle it.”

“No, I should – I should go,” Alicia says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I think I need to – I need to see it. I need to see her leave.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here,” Alicia decides. “Watch after Al. I’ll go with Victor and Brody.”

Luciana smiles. “That sounds good. Then we can finally move on.”

Alicia hums. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we can find a bigger place,” Luciana muses. “Live like the rich people would have before the dead ruined things.”

Alicia snorts. “Like in a mansion?”

“Yeah. Why not? There’ll be plenty of space for all of us.”

Alicia scoffs. “You mean you can easily get away from Victor and Brody and me and Al.”

Luciana laughs. “I thought I said it the nice way.”

“You did,” Alicia says. She exhales heavily. “Hey, Luci? I don’t think I ever got the chance to say I’m sorry.”

Luciana’s eyebrows pull together. “Sorry for what?”

“For – for what happened with Nick.”

Luciana reaches over and takes Alicia’s hand. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But now Victor and Brody – and Al and I – I just feel bad about what happened.”

Luciana chuckles. “You shouldn’t feel _bad_. You’re happy. And Victor’s trying his best to find a way to be happy. You shouldn’t be sorry. I’m lucky I got the time that I had with Nick. And if the world had never gone to shit, I would’ve never met him. So there’s no reason to feel bad or be sorry.”

“That’s an oddly optimistic way to look at the world.”

“Maybe.”

Alicia’s eyebrows pull together. “You helped me hunt down the Vultures, though.”

“Yes,” Luciana says. “I thought it would make me feel better.”

“But?”

“But with each person we killed, I only felt worse.”

Alicia figures maybe she shouldn’t tell Luciana that the same isn’t true for her. Alicia just nods. Luckily, Luciana doesn’t ask her about it. Alicia waits out the next couple hours with Luciana, until Luciana finally deems it’s a decent time to get up. It’s pushing eight in the morning when Luciana rolls out of bed. Alicia quickly follows her out into the living room, unsurprised to find Victor and Brody still passed out.

“Victor gave up the couch?” Luciana questions.

Alicia grins. “He wanted to sleep on the floor next to Brody. Can you blame him?”

“Yes,” Luciana says. “That’s a nice couch.”

Alicia shakes her head. “Let’s wake them. Get this thing over with.”

Alicia grabs Victor by the shoulder and shakes him – rather violently – until he finally starts to wake up. Luciana has just as much trouble trying to wake Brody, and Alicia thinks maybe these two should’ve been in the guest bedroom. They would’ve never woken up if, say, John and June broke free and tried to attack.

“What’s the rush?” Brody grumbles. “It’s not like our prisoners have somewhere to be.”

“I want them gone,” Luciana insists. “June’s going to look over Al one last time, and then we’re dropping June and John far away from here. So let’s go. Wake up.”

Victor and Brody complain the whole time, but they get to their feet, change their clothes, and eat breakfast with Luciana and Alicia. Alicia volunteers to retrieve June with Brody, and she double checks that the Beretta is loaded and that Brody’s switchblade is easily accessible from the front pocket of her jeans. Brody leads the way into the basement with his hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Brody shouts, startling June and John awake. “Time to get up.”

“What’s going on?” John demands.

“Quiet, cowboy,” Brody replies. “Your lady here’s going to make sure Al’s alright before we get the two of you out of our hair.”

“If you hurt her –” John threatens, but he cuts himself off when Brody laughs loudly.

“If we were gonna hurt you, we would’ve done it by now,” Brody points out. “Just cooperate, and we’ll get you two out of here, safe and sound.”

That seems to put John at ease, and he doesn’t fight against his handcuffs when Brody frees June and nudges her toward the staircase. June looks to Alicia, but Alicia doesn’t move. She stays out of the way, letting Brody guide June up the stairs. Alicia glances over at John, but he remains quiet. Alicia takes her time climbing up the stairs, and she doesn’t bother to join June and Brody in the master bedroom. She waits in the kitchen with Luciana and Victor.

“Be careful,” Luciana says. “Don’t trust them.”

“We’ve got this,” Victor assures her. He smiles reassuringly then winks. “Besides, you’ve got the hard job. You have to stay here and deal with Al.”

Luciana shakes her head, but she smiles. “I’m pretty sure that’s the easy job,” Luciana says. “If she gets on my nerves, I can just shut her in the bedroom.”

They all laugh, and Victor has to admit Luciana’s right. When the laughter dies off, Victor gets back to business. “I’m planning to drive them at least an hour away,” he informs. “So don’t expect us back too quickly. I’m hoping that’ll give us enough time to return, pack our remaining things, and get out of here. Just in case they plan to come after us.”

“They’d be stupid to try,” Alicia scoffs.

“If we’ve learned anything in this world,” Victor says gently, “it’s that people are stupid.”

Alicia grunts in agreement. Brody emerges from the master bedroom with June in tow, and before Alicia can ask, Brody says, “Everything’s looking good. As long as she rests and takes the antibiotics, she should heal just fine.”

Alicia nods. “Okay. Then let’s get John and get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Victor says. He motions Brody over, and Brody passes June off to Alicia and Luciana. Alicia watches her warily, but June doesn’t look like she’s going to try anything. In fact, she just looks tired. Brody and Victor come back from the basement with John, and Alicia pulls the Beretta from her waistband.

“Let’s go,” she orders, jabbing the barrel of the gun into June’s lower back. “Walk.”

“That isn’t necessary,” June says calmly.

“I don’t care.”

Luciana accompanies them out to Al’s van, but Alicia, Brody, and Victor get John and June tied up in the back of the van without any issues. John and June don’t resist. They don’t protest when Alicia blindfolds them. They sit next to each other, and they lean against each other the entire ride. Alicia, stuck in the back with them, finds it rather gross, actually. Alicia bets if she told them one of them had to die, they’d both start begging for Alicia to spare the other person. Absolutely disgusting.

The ride would be manageable, even with John and June all up on each other, if Victor and Brody would just shut the hell up. How can two people keep talking about fishing without running out of things to say?

“We could find a place on a lake,” Victor suggests sometime around the half hour mark. Which means they’ve got at least another half hour to go, and that’s if they find a good spot to drop John and June off. It has to be somewhere isolated, because the irrational part of Alicia’s brain tells her John and June are going to hotwire a car and try to follow them back to the cabin. As stupid as that would be.

“I would love that,” Brody agrees. “We could fish every morning. Every night.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Victor says.

Alicia could gag. She glances toward the front of the van but decides against saying anything. Victor and Brody are both grinning like idiots, and Brody might even be _blushing_. Alicia looks back across the aisle at John and June, and she almost wishes she’d volunteered to stay back at the cabin with Al. Even so, she was right to come along. She needs to see this through.

After ten minutes of driving through a vast stretch of nothingness, Victor looks back to Alicia. “What do you think?” he asks. “Is this good?”

“Seems good enough to me,” Alicia agrees. “There’s nothing out here.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Then let’s do this,” Brody says.

Victor brings the SWAT van to a stop and kills the engine. Victor and Brody exit the van and make their way around back. Alicia goes to open the doors for them, and Brody steps in to grab John by the arm.

“Come on,” Brody commands. “Out you go.”

“June?” John says. Brody hauls John out of the van, hands tied behind his back, blindfold over his eyes.

“I’m right here,” June says. “It’s okay.”

“Shut up,” Alicia snaps. “Try anything, and you die. Understood?”

“If we were going to try something,” John says wryly, “we would’ve done it by now.”

“I should shoot you for being a smartass,” Alicia replies.

“Being a smartass isn’t a crime,” John retorts.

“Knock it off,” Brody says. He cuts June loose first. She removes her own blindfold. Her eyes immediately seek out John, and Alicia snatches a handful of June’s jacket before she can rush to free him.

“We’ve got it,” Alicia tells her.

“Well, hurry up,” June says. “We just want to get out of here.”

“What do you think we want?” Victor questions. “A couple more minutes, and we’ll both have what we want.”

“Please tell me you have the keys to these handcuffs,” Brody says, tugging on the cuffs securing John’s hands behind his back.

“Well, yeah,” Victor says. “We had to free him from the pole, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t just drop the keys on the kitchen table or something,” Brody points out.

“I didn’t,” Victor replies. He starts patting himself down. “They’re here somewhere.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. There’s probably a set of bolt cutters in the van somewhere that’ll do the trick if Victor can’t come up with the keys. John waits patiently, wiggling his fingers behind his back, as Victor returns to the front of the van to check there. John starts to whistle a tune Alicia doesn’t recognize, and Brody shakes his head but just continues to watch John warily. Alicia keeps her attention on June. June’s getting impatient, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Alicia reaches into her pocket and curls her hand around the switchblade.

John stops whistling. “You know, can I get my revolvers back?” he asks. “I don’t care if you take all the bullets out of them. But I’d really like them back.”

Brody looks to Alicia. “Where are the revolvers?”

“In the van somewhere,” she dismisses.

“Can you watch them both?” Brody asks.

“Yeah,” Alicia says. “Just hurry.”

“Yes, please hurry,” June says. “We passed some walkers on the way in, and since you’re leaving us unarmed, I’d like to get moving.”

“I’m sure you can handle a couple of walkers, no problem,” Alicia says. She tightens her hold on the switchblade in her pocket. She tries to keep her temper in check, but June’s impatience is starting to get on her nerves. Like this is really how Alicia wants to spend her day, right? June’s kind of the reason Alicia shot Al in the first place – Alicia only pulled the trigger because she was trying to take down June. June, who helped the Vultures, the people who tore down Alicia’s community – Alicia’s family.

June looks to Alicia. “Is there something you’re trying to imply?”

Alicia’s jaw clenches. “Just shut up, okay? Brody! Hurry up in there!”

“Where are the stupid revolvers?” he calls.

“Check the backpacks. I know I shoved them in one of them.”

“I got the keys,” Victor announces. He joins Alicia once more and fumbles to get John’s handcuffs unlocked. Brody steps down from the van, carrying John Dorie’s two revolvers. Brody stores one in his waistband as he starts to unload the other. June turns to Alicia.

“I think there’s something I should say,” June declares.

“I told you to shut up,” Alicia says flatly.

“I wanted to stay,” June says, ignoring Alicia’s instructions. “I tried to convince everyone not to leave the stadium –”

“Stop talking,” Alicia says through her teeth. Her eyes sting, but she furiously blinks it away. She holds onto the switchblade in her pocket so tightly that her hand begins to hurt. Victor only just gets the handcuffs unlocked, and John rubs at his raw wrists, not even bothering with the blindfold yet. Brody lingers near the van, double checking that the first revolver is unloaded.

“But they didn’t listen,” June pushes on. “I’d left for supplies, and when I came back…I assumed everyone was dead. It seemed like you all were. I didn’t know Madison had –”

She keeps talking, but Alicia doesn’t hear anything after her mother’s name. She can’t believe June would _dare_ to mention her mom. So what if she returned to the stadium and thought they were all dead? Maybe if June had stayed in the first place, Madison wouldn’t be dead. Maybe things would’ve gone differently. And even though June thought the Vultures had killed her entire community, she still joined them.

Maybe Alicia should stop thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still shooting for a total of ten chapters, so hopefully after this, there'll be two more! I've been working a ton, and I have a wedding to attend this weekend in another state, so I can't promise I'll get the chapters out quickly, but I'll do my best.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	9. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the big chapter. It's a little heavier than the others, and after this, there's just one more to go. I hope you enjoy it.

Instead of everything happening all at once, time slows down. The black blade shoots out of the switchblade’s handle, and it sinks into June’s stomach before Alicia thinks about it. The only thing Alicia thinks about is her mom dying in that stadium to save her. June gasps, and blood pours out of the wound, spilling over Alicia’s hand. Alicia yanks the blade free before June falls to the pavement, clutching at her stomach.

John rips his blindfold off. He charges at Alicia, and she whirls around, brandishing the bloodstained knife, but she’s not going to be able to hold John off. Not after she’s stabbed his girlfriend. The rage on his face –

Alicia hits the ground hard on her bad shoulder, and she cries out, rolling off of it as quickly as she can. She lies on her stomach, bracing herself on her good arm. The empty revolver clatters to the ground somewhere behind her. She hears Victor screaming, but the world’s spinning thanks to the immense pain she’s experiencing so she can’t get up to help him.

Her blood runs cold when a gunshot rings out. Someone hits the ground only a few feet from Alicia, but she’s not in a position to see who. Someone heavy. Clearly a man – which doesn’t help her determine if it’s John or one of her friends. She grits her teeth, groaning, and she shoves herself to her feet with the hand coated in June’s blood. Alicia staggers but turns to face the mess she’s made.

June’s in the same spot as before, pressing her hands against her own wound. She’s definitely not applying enough pressure, though. Blood has already soaked the front of her shirt. John scrambles to June’s side, and Alicia realizes that means whoever hit the ground –

John’s preoccupied with trying to stop June’s bleeding. Alicia looks to the right of the van, to the road where Brody’s sprawled out on his back. He’s bleeding from his abdomen, much like June, but way worse. Victor has his hands pressed to the gunshot wound, and John Dorie’s revolver lies beside them. Alicia retrieves it. Victor barely spares her a glance. The bloodied switchblade gets tucked in Alicia’s pocket, and she gingerly holds the revolver in her shaking hands.

She cocks the hammer and points it at John.

“Get away from her,” Alicia orders. Her voice is a lot quieter than she expected, but John still looks up, tears staining his face. He doesn’t comply. “ _Get away_!” Alicia screams, aiming the gun at his head. Alicia tries to think about what her mom would do, but her mind comes up empty. Her mom isn’t here to help her. It’s just her.

For half a second, Alicia’s mind goes to Al. But she knows what Al would’ve done. Al wouldn’t have stabbed June in the first place, so she never would’ve ended up in this scenario. And if Al was here –

Al’s not here either, though. That’s the thing. It’s Alicia, two severely injured people, and two men that are both crying. Hell, Alicia’s crying, but she hasn’t figured out why yet. She just feels the tears roll down her cheeks and off her jaw. Her finger curls around the trigger of the revolver, and John finally lifts his hands from June’s stomach. He holds them up in surrender, both of his palms smeared with June’s blood, just like Alicia’s hand is. Every breath June takes is wheezy, but she’s not nearly ready to die yet. Hell, Brody’s bleeding more than June. Victor’s talking frantically, but Alicia hears none what he says. She’s fully focused on John Dorie.

“Back away,” Alicia hisses. “Do it now, or I’ll blow your _fucking_ brains out.”

John stumbles to his feet, hands raised, and he takes three deliberate steps back from June. Alicia exhales.

“Alicia!” Victor shouts from behind her. She can’t look back. If she takes her eyes off of John, it’s all over. “We need to leave! We have to help him.”

“I know,” Alicia says shakily. “And we will. Once she dies.”

“No,” John pleads. “Just go. Now.”

“So you can help her?” Alicia whispers. “So you can help the woman that abandoned my family when we needed her? I don’t think so, cowboy. She’s going to die.”

John bares his teeth. His hands start to lower to his sides. Alicia makes a decision before John can. She anticipates that he’s going to rush at her again, so she quickly takes aim and squeezes the trigger. The kickback from the revolver sends another wave of brutally sharp pain through her shoulder, but John crumples to the ground beside June, howling and reaching for his leg.

Alicia’s blown the man’s kneecap out. He’ll be staying down from now on. She drops the revolver to the ground with the other one and hurries to Brody’s side. He’s already lost a lot of blood from what Alicia can tell. Victor’s got his jacket pressed to the wound, and he looks desperately to Alicia, like she has the answers.

“He was shot in a place similar to Al,” Victor breathes. “Maybe – maybe you’ll be able to help him. Give him a chance.”

Brody’s eyes lock with Alicia’s. She flinches, getting the feeling that Brody’s thoughts about their next course of action aren’t quite lining up with Victor’s. But Alicia nods.

“I’ve done stitches before,” she says. She pats Victor on the shoulder with the hand not covered in blood. “Let’s get him in the back of the van. You keep pressure on the wound, and I’ll drive, okay?”

“Drive fast.”

“I will,” Alicia promises. More tears form in her eyes as Brody gazes up at her. She can’t help but think of Al, but she pushes those thoughts aside and helps Victor load Brody into the back, with much difficulty. Alicia’s shoulder’s killing her by the time she closes the back of the van. She pauses and turns back to John and June. John’s screaming stopped long ago, but he’s still on his ass on the pavement, dealing with his knee. And June –

Alicia walks up to her, nudges June’s shoulder with her boot. Just to make sure. June is dead. Alicia takes pity on John and grabs his revolver. She tosses it close enough that he’ll be able to drag himself to it, but only after Alicia’s already long gone. John’s eyes follow her all the way to the driver’s seat. She grits her teeth against the pain and drives them back to the cabin while Victor cries on and off and tries to stop Brody’s bleeding for good.

They make it back in record time, thanks to Alicia’s lead foot. She throws the van in park and immediately jumps out. Luciana steps out onto the porch, and her eyes widen as Alicia opens the back of the van.

“What happened?” Luciana yells. She runs to Alicia’s side, taking her by the elbow. Luciana’s eyes lock onto the blood dried on Alicia’s right hand. “Who’s is that?” Luciana whispers.

“June’s,” Alicia says flatly.

“ _June’s_?”

“I killed her,” Alicia informs as if she’s saying _it’s cloudy today_. “Brody’s hurt,” Alicia continues. She hesitates. “Victor wants us to help him.”

“Then come on,” Luciana says. “We’ll carry him inside.”

Carrying Brody from the van to the cabin is a lot harder than carrying him from the road to the van, so Alicia’s lucky they’ve got Luciana to help them. Brody’s basically dead weight, and he’s only half-conscious the entire time. They set him on the coffee table in the living room, and Victor immediately goes back to trying to stop the gunshot wound’s on and off bleeding.

“What happened?” Luciana demands, grabbing Alicia by the back of her shirt. “Tell me _everything_.”

“Shouldn’t we help him first?” Alicia questions.

“Victor needs to stop the bleeding before we can do anything else,” Luciana says. She scowls at Alicia and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting.

“I was going to let her go,” Alicia defends. “But she brought up my mom and –”

“And what?” Luciana snaps.

“And I lost it,” Alicia finishes. “John came at me, and Brody – Brody saved me from him. I didn’t really see what happened, but Brody was shot, and I had to blow out John’s kneecap –”

“And you left him,” Luciana says. She shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I can’t believe this.”

“This whole mess is my fault,” Alicia says. “I know. But let’s just try to get Brody in stable condition and then –”

“Hey!” Al calls from the bedroom. “What’s going on out there?”

_Shit_. Alicia’s eyes go wide with fear, and she grasps tightly onto Luciana’s shoulders. “You have to keep her in there,” Alicia whispers. “Don’t let her hurt herself.”

“She’s going to be livid when she finds out you got Brody shot,” Luciana says. Al shouts for them again, and concern crosses Luciana’s face. “But fine,” Luciana agrees. “I’ll keep her from hurting herself as long as you stay here and help Victor.”

“Thank you,” Alicia says.

“But wash that blood off yourself first.”

Alicia nods, and Luciana disappears into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Alicia trusts her to take care of Al, so Alicia turns her full attention to Victor and Brody. It isn’t until Alicia’s at Brody’s side with Victor that the guilt really starts to set into her bones. It’s just like when she shot Al, but worse. Brody stepped in and saved her from John, and this was the thanks he got. That bullet belonged to Alicia.

“It’s still bleeding,” Victor says. He adds more gauze, but the blood keeps soaking through. “What do we do?”

Brody looks up at Alicia. He’s not fully there. If he can speak, he doesn’t try to. He just...stares. Alicia flinches and looks from Brody’s face to Victor’s. Victor’s lips move silently, and Alicia holds onto his shoulder. There’s not much else she can do, at least until –

“Alicia!”

Alicia freezes. She looks to Victor, and he manages to nod. She releases Victor’s shoulder and rushes to the bedroom, flinging the door open. Luciana’s at the side of the bed, holding Al down by the shoulders, but it’s taking effort, that’s for sure.

“What’s going on?” Alicia asks.

“I’m getting up,” Al insists.

“No,” Alicia says sharply. “Stay there. You can’t hurt –”

“Because if I hurt myself again, there’s no one out there left to fix it, is there?” Al asks harshly. Alicia falters. “That’s what I _thought_ ,” Al spits.

“Just stay down,” Alicia commands. “There’s nothing you can do.” Alicia looks to Luciana. “What did you tell her?”

“The fucking truth,” Luciana snaps. “She deserves to know.”

“How is he?” Al asks. “How bad is it?”

Alicia hesitates. She motions for Luciana to go, and Luciana releases her hold on Al. She shuts the door behind her. Alicia takes a tentative seat on the edge of the bed beside Al, and thankfully, Al doesn’t try to sit up again. Alicia reaches for Al’s hand but thinks better of it, dropping it limply to the bed instead. She tries to find the right words while Al’s piercing gaze remains on the side of her face.

“It’s worse than yours,” Alicia admits. “He’s already lost a lot of blood.”

“We’ve done a transfusion once,” Al points out. “We just need to find out his blood type –”

Al falls silent as Alicia shakes her head. “He hasn’t spoken since he was shot,” Alicia says quietly. “Every time he looks at me…Al, I don’t think he wants us to save him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Al scoffs. “We have to try.”

“Victor is trying,” Alicia says. “The bleeding – it stops, but it keeps starting back up.”

Al’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “And June is dead?”

“June is dead.”

Al exhales shakily. “Luci said – she said he got shot saving you.”

Alicia presses her lips together and swallows hard. She nods. “Yes. John came at me after I stabbed June. And Brody…Jesus, Al, I don’t even know how it happened. I didn’t see it.”

Al presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, and Alicia once again reaches for her. Once again, Alicia thinks better of it and stops just short of actually touching Al.

“Al –” Alicia says, but the rest of the words stick in her throat.

Al clears her throat. She pushes her hands up into her hair and stares up at the ceiling. “Go,” Al says.

“What?”

“ _Go_ ,” Al repeats.

“Go?”

“Go help them,” Al says. Her voice shakes, but Alicia can’t tell if it’s out of anger or something else.

“Don’t hurt yourself while I’m –”

“Just go!” Al bursts. “I’ll be fucking fine in here. I promise.”

Alicia flinches and stands stiffly from the edge of the bed. She nods curtly and returns to the living room with Victor and Luciana. Alicia’s jaw hangs open for a moment, and she lingers off to the side while Brody weakly pulls Victor’s hands away from the gunshot wound. Luciana backs away as Victor and Brody exchange words Alicia couldn’t hear if she tried, but Victor breaks down again and starts nodding. Brody continues to hold onto Victor’s hands and says one last thing before Victor moves away from the coffee table.

Alicia’s body tenses as he approaches her. Victor holds his bloodied hand out. “Give me the gun,” he says. Alicia’s too afraid to protest, and she pulls the Beretta from her waistband and sets it in Victor’s palm. Victor pauses, staring hard at Alicia for a long while. “He wants you to tell Al he said he’s sorry,” Victor says. There’s absolutely no emotion in his voice or his face, and Alicia can only nod.

“Victor, what –?”

He holds up his hand, and Alicia goes silent. Victor walks back to the coffee table, touches his hand to Brody’s forehead, then raises the Beretta. Alicia barely looks away before Victor pulls the trigger. Luciana jumps, covering her mouth with her hand, and Al starts yelling from the bedroom again.

“You go,” Alicia tells Luciana, nudging her in the direction of the bedroom. “I’ll help Victor.”

“I don’t need your help,” Victor snaps. “Go deal with Al.”

Alicia follows after Luciana. Al’s pushed herself up into a seated position, and Luciana’s the only thing keeping her from getting to her feet.

“I told you to help him,” Al says, pointing a finger at Alicia.

“There was nothing to be done,” Alicia says. “Al, I’m so sorry. And Victor said – Victor said that Brody wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry.”

Al’s shoulders slump, and she stops trying to fight against Luciana. She stays put on the bed but leans back into the headboard. “He’s dead,” Al says. “That’s what that gunshot was. Right?”

Alicia grimaces. “Yes.” Alicia inhales shakily. “Luci, please –”

“I’ll help him,” Luciana assures Alicia. “You stay here.”

Alicia takes Luciana’s spot at Al’s side. She half expects Al to lash out, to push her away or something. But for a while, Al just breathes. Alicia wishes there was something she could do or say, but nothing can fix this. Nothing can even make it better. Finally, Al swallows hard and sets her eyes on Alicia.

“You know, sometimes,” Al begins slowly, speaking in a voice that’s barely audible, “I really start to wonder why I bother filming anything anymore.”

Alicia shifts uneasily. “Why?”

Al smiles mirthlessly. “Because I keep finding that everyone I film, everyone I interview…they all end up dead. They always fucking end up dead.”

“Al –”

Al holds her hand up, and Alicia’s voice dies. Alicia steps closer at the same moment that Al falls into her, and Alicia wraps her arms around Al and just hangs on as Al gets two fistfuls of her shirt and sobs into her chest. Alicia strokes her fingers through Al’s hair, and she stays completely silent until Al wears herself out. Slowly, Al’s grasp on Alicia’s shirt loosens, and Al starts to breathe a little more normally. She doesn’t make any move to get away from Alicia, which Alicia takes as a good sign.

“You said something,” Alicia murmurs. “Last night. You said it’ll all be over soon. It’s over now, Al. We’ll leave. You’ll heal. We’ll start over.”

“Try telling that to Victor,” Al replies.

Alicia shakes her head. “Now’s not the time to be an asshole.”

“You killed June,” Al says into Alicia’s chest. “John attacked you in response, and Brody died in your place. I’m not being an asshole. That’s just how things are.”

Alicia detaches herself from Al and makes her lie back down. She gets Al water then heads out to Brody’s shed. She finds a shovel and carries it out to a nice spot in the backyard, near a tree, and she starts digging. It’s tedious work, and Alicia’s shoulder aches, but she keeps digging until she’s standing in a hole that’s roughly six feet deep. Sweat pours down her face, plastering her hair to her forehead, and her hands are smeared with dirt. Alicia stops to take a break, breathing heavily, and someone casts a shadow over the hole.

Luciana stares down at Alicia. “You dug a grave,” Luciana observes.

“Yeah,” Alicia wheezes. “I mean, it’s almost there. We can’t just leave Brody on his coffee table. And we have the luxury of, you know, actually having a funeral.”

Luciana nods. She almost smiles, but her face contorts into a grimace instead. “Come on,” Luciana says. “I bet you Victor will be okay with finishing the grave up.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Victor’s had to dig a grave, but Alicia doesn’t say anything to Luciana. Luciana offers Alicia a hand, and Alicia takes it, allowing Luciana to help pull her out of the grave. Alicia heads inside and showers the dirt and sweat off of herself, changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a flannel. She ties her damp hair back before finding Luciana in the master bedroom with Al.

“Victor’s just finishing up the grave,” Luciana informs. “We should go out there with him. Say a few words.”

“I have some things to say,” Al grunts.

“You shouldn’t move,” Alicia says.

“Fuck that,” Al spits. “He was a good man. He was one of my favorite people to interview. I’m going out there.”

Alicia frowns. “Then you’re stuck with me,” she says. “I’ll help you.”

“I don’t care what you have to do,” Al dismisses. “I’m going out there to attend Brody’s funeral.”

The funeral, really, is just standing around the grave that Victor has covered with dirt and marked with a fishing rod that’s shoved deep into the earth. Al only stays on her feet because she’s got her arm secured around Alicia’s shoulders and Alicia’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Alicia’s shoulder hasn’t stopped hurting since she first stabbed June, but the pain is the price she’s paying for her actions. Luciana stands with Victor and tries to comfort him, but he’s having none of it. He shrugs her off every time.

They stand around Brody’s grave for what feels like forever, but no one complains. The least Alicia can do after causing all of this is give Victor the proper amount of time to grieve. Thanks to Alicia, Victor lost a chance to be happy. Based on the way Victor refuses to look at Alicia, she assumes he’s placing the blame on her. She understands, as painful as it is.

Eventually, Victor’s back straightens out. He clears his throat. His eyes are dry. He looks only to Luciana when he says, “It’s time to go.”

Luciana makes sure they’ve got everything packed into the SWAT van before they take off. Alicia makes sure to snag Brody’s wallet out of the bedside table. She almost swipes the bear lamp, but without electricity, she doesn’t think there’s really a reason to take it with them. Brody’s wallet, though, has his California license in it, with the little photo on it. Alicia takes it on the off chance that one day Victor will want a picture of Brody.

Alicia leaves the bloodied switchblade in the drawer of the bedside table. She has no reason to keep it.

Alicia and Luciana get Al into the back of the van. Al lies down without complaint, and she sleeps most of the time Luciana’s driving. Victor passes out in the passenger’s seat from the exhaustion. Alicia stays up with Luciana, but they don’t talk. Alicia sits across from Al’s sleeping form, hands clasped together in her lap. She tries not to think about how it’s kind of creepy that she’s watching Al sleep, but it’s been a long day. For all the things she could give herself shit for, watching Al sleep won’t be one.

Alicia still has the tape. _The Bog #7_. She transferred it from her other shirt to this one after her shower. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do with it yet, but Al doesn’t seem to want it back.

Luciana drives until she can barely keep herself awake then pulls off the road. Alicia does a quick sweep of the area, snatching up a broken off piece of what used to be part of a barrel to a gun to use to defend herself. The area’s oddly quiet, and Alicia doesn’t have to utilize the hunk of gun barrel yet. She climbs back into the van, locks them in, and takes a seat, studying the barrel. She could actually turn this thing into a formidable weapon if she sharpens the one end to a point. It’ll be able to easily slice through the flesh of the dead – and seriously injure or kill any human that’s dumb enough to attack Alicia Clark.

Luciana joins Victor and Al in sleeping, and it’s unusually quiet in the van. Victor doesn’t snore. Al sleeps like she’s dead, the only obvious indication that she’s alive being the steady rise and fall of her chest that Alicia checks for every few minutes. Alicia lies across her set of seats, but she knows she won’t be able to sleep. Not after everything that happened today. Her body’s exhausted from physical exertion, but her mind is on high alert. She stays awake.

Sometime within the next hour, Al stirs. Alicia bolts upright, afraid something’s wrong, but Al simply wakes up.

“Why are you awake?” Al mumbles.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Right.” Al motions for Alicia to come closer. Alicia doesn’t hesitate, sliding off the seats and sitting herself on the floor next to Al’s head. “You okay?” Al asks.

Alicia opens her mouth to answer with something like _yeah, of course_ , but instead, she bursts into tears. Al startles, but Alicia waves her off, stifling her sobs with her arm so she doesn’t wake Victor or Luciana.

“What’s wrong?” Al asks softly.

Alicia shakes her head until she pulls herself together enough to whisper, “I know how much pain I caused Victor today, and I probably killed an innocent man by blowing out his kneecap and leaving him with his dead girlfriend on a road in the middle of nowhere, but I – God, for the first time since my mom died, I feel _free_. I finally feel like I’m at peace even though what I’ve done was so horribly _selfish_.”

Al cups Alicia’s cheek in her hand and wipes tears away with her thumb. Alicia manages a shaky smile, and Al lets her continue. “I wiped out all the Vultures, just like I said I would. They paid for killing my mom – and so many other people who just wanted to survive. And I feel like I’ve had a thousand pounds lifted off my shoulders.” Alicia laughs, hiccups, and knocks Al’s hand from her face. “Do you hate me now?”

“No.”

“But I’m a terrible person.”

Al smiles sadly. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? In this world, we’re all terrible people. We’re all selfish. That’s how we’re still alive. Maybe you should take a look at some of my tapes. I think you’ll find a lot of people who agree.”

“Doing the selfless thing gets you killed,” Alicia says. “Just look at my mom. Look at Brody. It’s all about what you’re willing to do to keep yourself alive.”

“But at what cost?”

Alicia intertwines her fingers with Al’s. “I already decided I’m going to survive this,” Alicia says. “I’m going to live to see whatever happens next. I’ll do anything to keep myself going. Whatever it takes. I owe it to everyone who’s died for me.”

“That sounds good to me,” Al says. “I’d love to be there.”

“Luckily for you, you’re invited.”

Al grins crookedly. “Is the camera okay?”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Bring the camera if you have to.”

“I have to.”

Alicia exhales. “Move over.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting me?”

“I’m trusting you’ll tell me if I hurt you,” Alicia replies. “Or, you know, just shove me onto the floor.”

Al laughs quietly. Her arm wraps around Alicia’s waist, and she drops her forehead against the back of Alicia’s neck. Al taps her fingers against Alicia’s stomach and says, “You need to sleep.”

“I’m okay,” Alicia assures her.

“You’ll need energy for tomorrow.”

“I doubt Luciana and Victor will care if I lay around the van with you all day.”

Al sighs. “Luci wants to find a place.”

“She told me,” Alicia chuckles. “She wants to live like we’re rich people.”

“What’s stopping us?”

“Not a goddamn thing,” Alicia says. “We’re free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be like an epilogue to show how everything turns out for our survivors. I have some other projects in mind once this is complete, so stay tuned. Who knows what the rest of this season will bring for me to fix lol.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!


	10. Epilogue

_Eight Months Later_

Al wakes up the same way she’s been waking up for the past six months, at least: to the sound of Alicia screaming. The first twenty times or so sent Al into a panic, but now, she merely groans and rolls over, patting around until her hand touches flesh.

“Alicia,” Al mumbles. “Hey. Wake up.”

Al gets her hand on what she thinks is Alicia’s thigh and shakes until the screaming stops. Alicia gets a vicelike grip on Al’s hand, and Al grunts and forces herself to fully wake up. She pushes her hair back from her face with her free hand and turns to face Alicia.

“You good?” Al asks.

“Yeah,” Alicia breathes. “Just – you know.”

Al hums. She knows. “Easy. You’re gonna break my hand.”

“You always say that.”

Al smiles sleepily and pulls the sheets up to her neck. It’s early in the morning and sort of chilly, and Al’s not ready to actually get up yet, even though there’s work to do. There’s always work to do. Victor and Luciana are usually beyond being capable of pitching in, so it’s all left up to Al and Alicia. When they’re actually around, at least.

Al’s mostly back to sleep when Alicia releases her hand and slides into Al’s space. If Al was awake, she’d probably complain about Alicia hogging the covers and now her side of the bed as well, but Al just lifts her arm and lets Alicia rest her head on her chest. Alicia’s warm, at least.

“Al, we should get up,” Alicia says.

“Not yet.”

“I thought you wanted to go out today.”

“I do, but later.”

“And someone has to clear the dead out of the lake,” Alicia reminds.

“You.”

“No,” Alicia says sharply. “ _Us_. Together.”

“I did it alone last time,” Al complains. She lifts her head and pushes Alicia off of her. “It’s your turn.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Technically, Luciana or Victor should do it.”

Al snorts and throws the covers back. “Good luck with that one,” she says. She stands and checks the time. “It’s not even noon yet, and I bet you Victor’s wasted by now.”

“Luciana’s been sleeping naked,” Alicia warns. “Like, out in the open.”

“That’s just dangerous,” Al replies. She pulls a shirt over her head and runs her hands through her hair. “Honestly? The lake can wait until tomorrow. Let’s just go.”

“Agreed.”

“Get dressed.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Alicia teases.

Al blinks. “You’re naked.”

Alicia laughs and shrugs, but she puts clothes on and follows Al downstairs. It only took Al and Alicia a solid week to have the mansion entirely mapped out in their heads. They easily avoid running into Luciana or Victor on their way out – not that Luciana or Victor really know when Al and Alicia are in the mansion anymore. Music’s coming out of the other room, so at least one of them is awake. Awake and drunk, probably.

“You cool with driving?” Alicia asks.

“Yeah,” Al says.

They get in the van. Al drives. Alicia doesn’t have to ask the question anymore. Before, she’d ask _do you think we’ll find someone today?_ Al’s answer was always _if we get lucky_. They haven’t been getting lucky. Al’s camera hasn’t been of much use lately. Frankly, Alicia’s rather relieved that there aren’t many people out this way. That makes their home much safer than if there was some massive community right down the road. But Al’s determined to travel farther and farther each time they head out, desperate to find someone new.

Alicia’s mostly just along for the ride. And she’s always eager to get out of the mansion, to get away from her drunk friends. Not that she can really blame Victor and Luciana. Riding out the apocalypse while absolutely shitfaced sounds pleasant in its own kind of way. Except it’s hard to get anything done when you’re never sober. Alicia’s learning that one the hard way.

Al seems to be in a fairly decent mood today, despite the lake needing to be cleared of the dead sometime in the near future. When Alicia reaches for Al’s hand, Al doesn’t pull away. It’s one of those days where they don’t talk even though Al lets Alicia hold her hand. Alicia’s secretly hoping they don’t find anyone again. That always puts Al in a bad mood, but it usually leads to angry sex in the back of the van that ensures Alicia’s going to sleep well that night. And Alicia could use some good sleep.

It’s a quiet day. They roll through a town Alicia doesn’t recognize – though in all fairness, it’s hard to keep track of all the places they’ve searched. Something compels Al to stop the van. Alicia’s eyebrows pull together as Al throws the van in park.

“What’s up?” Alicia asks. “Did you see something?”

“Something just feels…off,” Al mutters.

“What do you mean?”

“It looks like someone’s been here,” Al says. She shrugs. “It’s probably nothing.”

That’s how it normally goes. Alicia never argues with Al’s feelings about certain places. She just grabs the gun barrel with the end she sharpened into a point and follows after Al. Really, Alicia should be taking the lead. Al carries her camera in her hands instead of a weapon, so if something were to happen –

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Alicia and Al whip around, and their eyes land on a man across the road, leaning into a walking stick.

“Morgan?” Al questions.

Morgan flashes a quick smile and gives a curt nod. “Al,” he says. “It’s good to see you alive.”

“Likewise,” Al replies warily.

Morgan eyes Al and Alicia suspiciously, obviously noting Alicia’s defensive posture. Morgan makes no move to cross the road, and Al and Alicia stay frozen in place as well. “It’s kind of interesting to see you traveling with Alicia,” Morgan comments. “After she shot you and all.”

“Things change,” Al says sharply. “It’s been a while. I’m sure some things have changed in your life, too.” Al holds the camera up. “You can tell me about it, if you’d like.”

Morgan smiles thinly and shakes his head. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Al shrugs. Alicia grasps onto Al’s wrist, and Morgan’s eyes track the movement. “Come on,” Alicia says quietly. “Let’s just go.”

“You in a hurry?” Morgan calls.

“We should get back to our friends,” Alicia lies smoothly.

“So you two aren’t out here alone?” Morgan asks.

“Of course not,” Alicia snaps. “But you look like you’re here alone. Like always.”

Morgan doesn’t deny it. “Does that matter?” he questions. “Are you going to kill me, Alicia?”

Alicia balks. “What?”

“That’s what you people do, isn’t it? Kill.”

Alicia’s eyes narrow. “Only when I have to.”

“Right.”

“The Vultures are dead,” she announces. “I’m done. I only kill when I have no other choice.”

“There’s always another choice,” Morgan says.

“Yeah,” Alicia snorts. “Get killed. That’s your other choice. It was great seeing you, Morgan, really, but we’re going to go.”

Alicia tugs on Al’s wrist, surprised when Al doesn’t resist, wordlessly allowing Alicia to lead her back to the van. Alicia plucks the keys out of Al’s jacket pocket and drives. There goes Alicia’s plan for angry sex. Now they have a long ride back in semi-awkward silence.

When the van pulls up to the mansion, Luciana staggers out onto the front porch, a mostly empty bottle of wine in one hand. She holds it up as a greeting, smiling dazedly. Al hops out of the van before Alicia even has it parked and goes to meet Luciana halfway. It’s a good decision, because the bottle of wine drops to the grass, and Luciana starts to go down in the moments before Al reaches her. But Al’s just in time, catching Luciana before she hits the ground, too.

Luciana laughs.

“You got her?” Alicia calls.

Luciana clutches onto Al’s shirt as Al tries to haul her back up to her feet. Luciana’s legs have decided to stop working. Luciana can’t keep herself upright.

“Barely,” Al says through her teeth.

“She can’t walk,” Alicia says. “She’s too drunk.”

“Mm not drunk,” Luciana protests. Al gets Luciana’s feet planted on the ground, but Luciana leans all of her weight into Al still, hands grasping at Al’s shoulders. Luciana grins, and her unfocused eyes find a way to focus on Al’s face. Luciana chances letting go of one of Al’s shoulders to place her hand against Al’s cheek. “Very pretty,” Luciana mumbles.

“Don’t hit on my – er, don’t hit on Al,” Alicia says, pulling Luciana’s hand away from Al’s face. “Come on. Let’s go inside. Al and I have to clear the dead out of the lake.”

“I was hoping we weren’t going to do that today,” Al says.

“It needs to get done,” Alicia grumbles. “And Victor and Luci are…incapacitated.”

“Apparently.”

“Luci, please walk,” Alicia says in exasperation.

“Can’t.”

Al and Alicia exchange a glance, and Al sweeps Luciana off her feet. Luciana cries out initially but begins laughing again as Al hurries to get her back into the mansion.

“I’ll check on Victor,” Alicia says. “Try not to drop Luci.”

“Drop me,” Luciana says solemnly. But then she grins. Al shakes her head and sets Luciana down on the nearest couch. Luciana, thankfully, stays there. There are empty bottles of wine strewn around the room, and Al cleans them up while Alicia makes sure Victor’s still alive. Music had been playing when they first left, but now, the mansion is strangely quiet. Except for Luciana’s periodic giggling, seemingly prompted by nothing but her drunkenness.

Alicia herds Victor into the room with Luciana. Victor throws himself into one of the armchairs and slouches down. Luciana’s the fun drunk; Victor’s just…sad. He’s always fucking sad. Al can’t really blame him, but taking care of Luciana and Victor is like taking care of two oversized children. It’s getting on Al’s nerves. They’re almost never sober anymore.

“So, the lake,” Alicia says.

“Let’s take care of it,” Al agrees. “Who’s night is it to make dinner?”

Luciana flings her arms into the air. “Mine!”

Alicia mouths _no_ at Al, and Al nods. “I’ve got it,” Al volunteers. “But only if you kill everything we dredge up.”

“Deal,” Alicia says. “I’ll get the boat going.”

The lake cleaning process is always at least a three hour long affair, but for the most part, Al gets to lie back and let Alicia do the dirty work. Mostly because Alicia hates making dinner and likes killing the dead. They haul the bodies to shore and burn them in the fire pit they created on the mansion’s vast property.

“Shower then dinner?” Alicia questions.

“Yeah,” Al says, making a face at the burning pile of bodies. “Once the fire’s out.”

They watch the fire die down together. When they return to the mansion, both Luciana and Victor are passed out. That makes Al and Alicia’s job easier. They head up to their bedroom, and Alicia locks the bedroom door. Just in case. Luciana has accidentally drunkenly wandered in before.

Alicia pulls her boots off, and her eyes flick over to the corner of the room where the safe is. _The Bog #7_ has been locked in there with Al’s camera and tapes since they first moved in. Alicia figures it’s safer to have it locked up than to carry it on herself at all times. Alicia throws her clothes into the hamper and gets the shower going. Al’s taking forever to get naked, so Alicia gets into the shower first in an attempt to clean herself off before Al arrives to hog all the water.

When Al joins her, Alicia’s eyes go to the same spot that they always do when Al’s not wearing a shirt. The scar where the gunshot entrance wound had been is about twice as bad as the exit wound scar, thanks to the multiple problems with the stitches. Alicia always stares at it, no matter what. Her eyes always seek it out. Al, at least, has stopped calling her out on it. Al pokes her head under the showerhead and hogs all the water, as Alicia expected.

They don’t talk. Alicia’s half tempted to try to make up for not having angry back of the van sex with shower sex instead, but her eyes land on the scar again and she loses the courage to initiate it.

“You still beating yourself up for that one?” Al asks, breaking the silence.

“No.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“If I hadn’t shot you,” Alicia says, although she’s said this to Al before, “then Victor and Luci wouldn’t get shitfaced every day.”

“And we wouldn’t be here,” Al reminds. “You and I –”

“You win some, you lose some, I guess,” Alicia mutters. She shuts the water off. “We need to make dinner, otherwise Victor and Luci will starve.”

Al catches Alicia’s wrist in her hand before she can step out of the glass shower. Alicia tries to shake her wrist free, but Al tightens her hold. “We can only avoid talking for so long,” Al says.

“We talk.”

“Not about the important stuff.”

“Like what?” Alicia scoffs. She pries Al’s hand off her. “It can’t wait until we have clothes on?”

“We spend half our time together without clothes on,” Al says wryly. “What difference does it make?”

In response, Alicia jabs her finger against the scar on Al’s stomach. “You want to talk?” Alicia says. “Cover that. We can talk after we make sure Victor and Luciana are set for the night.”

Al rolls her eyes. “You’re really going to let that one scar bother you? I have others, you know.” Al twists and shows Alicia the scar she has from that one time she was stabbed. Alicia shakes her head, and Al knows exactly what the next words out of Alicia’s mouth will be.

“I didn’t do that to you.”

“I lived,” Al says. “That’s the important part.”

“Brody didn’t,” Alicia says. “And just like that scar is my fault, Brody’s death is my fault, too. And now Victor and Luci can’t function anymore.”

“You can’t take the blame for how they choose to handle the shit life hands them.”

“Watch me.”

They get dressed. They eat dinner. They lock up the mansion for the night, make sure Luciana and Victor are good, and head up to bed. They lie next to each other in the darkness. Al could try to get Alicia to talk. She almost always fails, or Alicia changes the subject quickly, or they have sex instead. Or it could be one of those nights where Al just tries to fall asleep before Alicia in hopes that she doesn’t wake up to screaming.

“You know,” Alicia says, mildly startling Al. “We haven’t found anyone new in a while.”

“I know.”

“Maybe you should interview me,” Alicia says. “Maybe I should tell you what happened when I – when I shot you, and when we were at the cabin. From my perspective.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“No,” Alicia admits. “But I think I need to do it. I think I need to say it all.”

Al hums. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Al wakes up three times that night due to Alicia’s screaming. The third time occurs at seven in the morning, so Al resigns herself to just staying up. To her surprise, Alicia gets up, too. Before Al can ask, Alicia motions toward the safe.

“Get the camera.”

Al does as she’s told. She sets the camera up as Alicia sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together in her lap.

“You’re sure about this?” Al asks.

Alicia nods. “Just treat me like you treat everyone you interview.”

“Okay. It’s simple. Start with your name, where you’re from, and what you’ve seen.”

Alicia takes a deep breath. “Alicia Clark. I’m from California. And everything started with the Vultures.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, guys! I've decided to make a whole series out of writing What If? sort of things like this one, where I'll change one major event and see how things unfold from there. I've got another one to post very soon, so keep an eye out if you're interested.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for all your support and for sticking with me. It means so much to me. I'd love to hear your final thoughts on Breathe in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!
> 
> If you'd like, come find me on tumblr at blinkaftermidnight.


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